


Robbers' Retreat

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Series: Songs of Bellamort [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Bellamort, F/M, Married to Rodolphus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 54,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: She was someone else’s wife, and he was Lord Voldemort. He had no time or space or energy to think about her. And, anyway, she was married. But here he was, staring into a fire, remembering the warm softness of her skin beneath his palm and wide shimmer of her dark eyes.Bellamort, COMPLETE.





	1. Chapter 1

_December 1971_

" _Stupefy!_ "

Bellatrix cackled with happiness as her spell took hold on Manna Holden, the Auror she'd tracked down in Essex. The other witch toppled over, her wand already having been seized by Bellatrix in the midst of a fierce duel. Bellatrix had explicit orders to get Holden to the Dark Lord alive for interrogation, so she Conjured ropes and bound the other witch up before Disapparating. When she appeared outside the Apparition Point at Malfoy Manor, the Stunning Spell wore off and Manna Holden squirmed and yelled inside her bindings.

" _Silencio. Immobulus. Wingardium Leviosa._ "

Soon enough, Bellatrix was guiding the frozen, bound, silent form of Manna Holden into the Manor. Holden's quiet body floated as Bellatrix dragged her along, bringing her up through the main stairwell and into the meeting room where she was expected. Inside she found Lord Voldemort waiting, his arms crossed over flowing black robes as he smirked with satisfaction.

"Well done, Bellatrix," he nodded, and Bellatrix grinned as she set Holden's body down on the ground before her master. She watched as he put his own spells on her, taking control of the Auror, and he nodded to Bellatrix as he said softly, "You may go."

"Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix bowed her head and turned to go. Then she heard from behind her,

"Bellatrix."

She turned quickly to see Voldemort staring straight at her, studying her, his dark eyes going up and down her form. She watched his throat bob a little, and then he murmured,

"Fine work today. Dismissed."

* * *

Of all the things Lord Voldemort should be doing at this Christmas gathering, he thought, staring at Bellatrix Lestrange was not one of them.

She'd eagerly joined his ranks straight out of Hogwarts. That summer, she'd married Rodolphus Lestrange, who had just as enthusiastically come into Voldemort's service. It was Bellatrix who had proven herself fierce and fearless in combat, loyal and courageous to the point of putting herself directly in harm's way more often than not. Rodolphus was a fine foot soldier, but Bellatrix was something different. She was… a beast of her own sort.

For the last several months, Voldemort had often found himself eyeing her. Sometimes during a meeting, he'd catch her gaze for a half second, forcing himself not to hold it. He'd see her walking through the gardens of Malfoy Manor toward the Apparition Point, and he'd study her movements through the window of his office.

She was beautiful in a strange, unconventional way. Her features were at once childish and mature. She had wide eyes of the deepest brow, full pink lips, and sharp cheekbones with a thin, almost gangly body. Her hair was a thrashing sort of cascade, black ringlets that were barely controlled. She was young. She was beautiful. She was loyal and brave and intelligent. Still, Voldemort loathed himself for looking at her so often.

First of all, he must not trouble himself with trifling things like lust if he meant to become the ruler of wizarding Britain. There was no time, no space or energy to be granted to the pursuit of a witch. And, anyway, she was not available. She'd been married to Rodolphus Lestrange for over a year now. She was someone else's wife, and he was her master, and he didn't have time or space for staring at her.

But here he was, in the middle of the ballroom at Malfoy Manor, clutching a glass of white wine and staring. She was standing with her husband, his arm laced comfortably around her narrow waist, as the two of them talked with her sister Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. Voldemort huffed out a rather frustrated breath and swigged down the rest of his wine. He flicked his eyes toward the dance floor, where people were smiling and celebrating the coming holiday. Then he Vanished his empty wine glass with nonverbal, wandless magic and stalked over to where Bellatrix stood.

Narcissa Black muttered something, and Bellatrix whirled round with Rodolphus. All four of the young people before Voldemort dipped their heads reverently, and Lucius said politely,

"My Lord, I do hope my family's party is to your liking."

"Quite," Voldemort affirmed. He looked at Bellatrix for a brief moment, and then he said to Rodolphus, "Lestrange, I wonder if I might borrow your wife for a moment. Just a quick dance."

All four of them looked awfully surprised, but when Voldemort held his hand out to Bellatrix, she took it and flashed her husband a little smile. Voldemort's heart went far quicker than he'd have preferred as he led Bellatrix out toward the dance floor. He put his hand to the middle of her back and then quickly realised he'd found bare skin; her gown had a round cut-out from the black lace, and he'd put his palm right onto her flesh. He didn't move his hand, for some reason, and Bellatrix said nothing, but her eyes flashed. Voldemort cleared his throat as they started to move to the festive but lazy two-step the strings were playing.

"I wanted to tell you," Voldemort said quietly, "that I extracted a great deal of information from Manna Holden. Your work in Essex was very well done, Bellatrix."

She smiled, and at the sight of that, his breath caught for some reason. Voldemort swallowed the odd, unexpected thickness in his throat as Bellatrix said quietly,

"I am so honoured to have been useful to you, Master. It is all I ever desire - to serve you."

"Hmm." Voldemort pushed his teeth into his bottom lip until it hurt, and he glanced over to see that Rodolphus Lestrange was dancing with Narcissa Black, both of them laughing about something or another. Narcissa was still at Hogwarts, but she was home on holiday. Bellatrix was young, too. Far too young for Voldemort to be ogling. And she was married, and he was her master, and -

"My Lord?"

He snapped to attention, lowering his eyes and realising just how very  _short_  Bellatrix was. She seemed a little concerned, and he thought his face must have done something odd. He squared his jaw and steeled his expression and said rather cruelly,

"You've tamed your hair tonight."

Bellatrix frowned a little. She'd pulled her hair into a tight braid down her back, through which she'd threaded metallic silver cords. Voldemort sniffed a little and said,

"I remember when your family would come to the Malfoy Christmas parties a long time ago. I was lowly then, not a worshipped lord of any kind, but I remember the little girl with the wild black curls that exploded straight out of her scalp."

Bellatrix laughed a little then and shook her head a bit.

"The curls are just as wild now, Master; that's why I braid them up sometimes."

"Yes, well. You've grown into your hair, and I like it down." Voldemort scowled deeply at Bellatrix, for he had no idea at all why he was telling her anything about her hair. She seemed just as confused, and Voldemort shut his eyes as he said firmly,

"I've had entirely too much wine. Forgive my silliness."

It was a lie; he'd had two glasses over the course of a hour and a half. He was hardly drunk. The song ended, and Voldemort took a little step back from Bellatrix as he said,

"You should dance with your husband now."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix's eyes were strange then, as if she was seeing something for the very first time. Another song started up, and still they just stood there, staring at one another like utter fools. VOldemort tried and failed to tear his gaze from her.

_Pretty_ , his mind muttered to itself.  _Pretty and clever and loyal and fearless, and -_

"Bella, may I steal you back?"

Rodolphus had returned, and Bellatrix gasped audibly as her face snapped away from Voldemort's. Her chest was heaving visibly, and she flicked her gaze back up to her master as she said quietly,

"Thank you for the dance, My Lord."

"The pleasure was mine, Madam Lestrange." Voldemort made his lips articulate the words, forced breath from his lungs, and blinked as he watched Rodolphus nod to him and lead Bellatrix off. Rodolphus swept his wife into a dance, and Lord Voldemort decided he'd had more than enough of this silly party.

He made a quiet exit, stalking like a wraith through the corridors and stairwells of Malfoy Manor until he reached the suite where he was based these days. He sank into an armchair and lit a fire in his fireplace, staring at the flames as he listened to the distant strains of the party continuing downstairs.

She was someone else's wife, and he was Lord Voldemort. He had no time or space or energy to think about her. And, anyway, she was married.

But here he was, staring into a fire, remembering the warm softness of her skin beneath his palm and wide shimmer of her dark eyes.

* * *

"You looked so pretty tonight, Bella." Rodolphus' voice was warm as he undid the little buttons at the back of Bellatrix's neck. She smiled at him as she slithered from her black lace and silk gown, and she Banished it to her wardrobe.

"I hate parties. You know that," she reminded him. The two of them cleaned themselves up with Scouring charms and got into pyjamas, and once they'd settled into bed, Rodolphus leaned to kiss Bellatrix. He tasted like mint, and though Bellatrix kissed him back, something felt empty tonight. When she pulled back from him, she couldn't focus on his pale blue eyes or his honey-coloured hair. All she could think of was the Dark Lord - tall with eyes black as night, smelling of cedarwood and leather. As Rodolphus' short fingers drifted around Bellatrix's face and neck, all she could feel was Voldemort's hand against her back, his other one wrapped around hers.

"Something wrong?" Rodolphus frowned a little, and Bellatrix realised she'd gone tense beneath his touch. She sighed and lied,

"I'm just tired. Long night."

"Well," Rodolphus said kindly, "I shall make extra love to you tomorrow night, then."

She nodded. "Night, Dolph."

He rolled onto his back and shut his eyes contentedly. "Night, Bella."

She rolled away and stared at the window, noting how brightly the moonlight shone tonight.

She was Rodolphus' wife, and he was the great and fearsome Lord Voldemort. He had no time for someone like her to be fawning over him, and it was scarcely appropriate for her to fantasise about her master. She was married, and he existed on a different plane, anyway.

But here she was, lying beside her husband and staring out the window, wishing with all her might that she could have just one more dance with him, with Lord Voldemort.

**Author's Note: Hey, there! I've really been struggling with health issues lately, so writing has been hard. I've decided to write a story in my absolute OTP to help cheer myself up a bit. I've never explored the idea of Bellamort where she isn't the first one to be fawning and ogling. I figured I'd give it a shot! Warning - you may feel badly for Rodolphus in this story. Haha. :) If you're reading and get a chance to leave a quick review/comment, I would really appreciate it. Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

Bellatrix hummed a little as she came walking out of Moribund’s. For it being so near Christmas, Knockturn Alley was awfully quiet, but it was near closing time for most of the shops. Bellatrix had experienced difficulty finding a good Christmas gift for Rodolphus, but at last she’d tracked down exactly the right thing - a jar of gel that would induce severe vomiting when smeared onto skin. For anyone but Rodolphus Lestrange, it would be a bizarre gift, but Rodolphus handled some prisoners, and so Bellatrix knew he’d find it useful.

She made her way into Diagon Alley and nearly bumped into a tall, thin wizard. She scowled up at him, waiting for an apology, and then she saw realisation come over his face. His mouth fell open, and his pale freckled cheeks went red with alarm.

“Madam Lestrange?” he asked, and Bellatrix tipped her chin up.

“Who are you?”

The wizard pulled out a Ministry badge and said simply, “My name is Oliver Prewett. Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I’d like a word.”

“A word.” Bellatrix backed into Knockturn Alley, and Oliver Prewett followed her. Bellatrix shrugged. “Go on, then.”

“We had an Auror disappear a few days ago,” Prewett said. “Manna Holden. Her Muggle neighbour said a young woman with black curls entered Manna’s home not long before she went missing.”

“Sounds like a right nosy Muggle,” Bellatrix nodded. Prewett narrowed his eyes.

“Do you know anything about what happened to Ms Holden?”

“Let me think.” Bellatrix glanced around furtively and sighed. Once she was sure no one was watching them, she whipped out her wand, jabbed it against Oliver Prewett’s chest, and hissed, “ _ Avada Kedavra. _ ”

There was a jade flash of light, and Prewett crumpled to the ground. Bellatrix immediately aimed her wand and him and muttered,

“ _Corpus Evanesco_.’  
His body Vanished into Nonbeing, and then there was a gasp from Bellatrix’s right. She saw a middle-aged witch, Ameerah Shacklebolt, standing in awe with bags on her arms. Bellatrix cleared her throat; Ameerah’s son Kingsley was in school with Narcissa. Kingsley didn’t neatly fit the Pureblood mold, but Ameerah did, to the best of Bellatrix’s knowledge. Bellatrix plastered on a little grin and quickly approached Ameerah Shacklebolt with her wand held out. Ameerah looked frightened, but Bellatrix twisted her wand and said determinedly,

“ _ Obliviate. _ ”

She watched Ameerah’s eyes go blank, and Bellatrix concentrated hard on the idea of her killing Oliver Prewett. She replaced the notion with a vision, the idea that Bellatrix had just come strolling back onto Knockturn Alley. She lowered her wand, and Ameerah Shacklebolt said in a warm voice,

“Bellatrix. How good to see you. Last minute Christmas shopping?”

“Yes, Mrs Shacklebolt. I confess, it is odd to see you back here in Knockturn Alley!” Bellatrix laughed a little, and Ameerah shrugged.

“You know my Kingsley. Such a Potions fiend. There were a few things Slug and Jiggers didn’t have; they sent me back to Mr Mulpepper’s Apothecary.”

“Well. Have a happy Christmas,” Bellatrix said, and Ameerah nodded as she walked away and waved.

“You, too, dear.”

Bellatrix waited until Ameerah had gone, and then she Disapparated, coming to in the gardens outside Malfoy Manor.

 

* * *

 

“Enter.”

Voldemort frowned as he looked up from his copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ , whose headline story was the disappearance of Auror Manna Holden. The door to his office opened slowly, and Bellatrix Lestrange came walking in. She cleared her throat and clutched at a shopping bag as she said,

“My Lord, I am very sorry to disturb you, but… well… something happened in London.”

“Come in. Sit.” Voldemort used wandless magic to send the chair opposite him sliding out, and he shut the heavy door behind Bellatrix. She seemed ill at ease as she sank down into the chair. She blinked quickly a few times, and Voldemort said, “It will be easier if you simply show me.  _ Legilimens. _ ”

She jolted a little as he entered her mind. He yanked forth the images of what had just occurred. Bellatrix had been shopping for Rodolphus, buying him Emesis Gel, and then she’d encountered Oliver Prewett. He’d questioned her; she’d killed him and Vanished his corpse. She’d Obliviated the only witness, Ameerah Shacklebolt, and had come straight here. Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix’s head, and she panted from the exertion of him having been in her mind. Voldemort rose from his chair and went to the cart in the corner of his office. He took the stopper from a crystal decanter of elf-made wine, and he poured two glasses’ worth. He took one to Bellatrix, and she gratefully accepted it with shaking hands. He sat opposite her as she sipped, and he set down his own glass.

“I am proud of you,” he said simply, and Bellatrix seemed surprised at that.

“You’re not… you’re not angry, Master?”

“Angry?” He scoffed and shook his head. “You were cornered by a Ministry official regarding a crime that you did, in fact, commit. You were absolutely right to kill him, to get rid of the body, to wipe the memory of the only witness. You handled it seamlessly. How old are you again, Bellatrix?”

She hesitated and sipped from her wine before she mumbled, “Twenty, Master. I’m twenty.”

“You handled that situation far better than wizards who have been doing magic for a half century would have done,” Voldemort said firmly. “You served me beautifully.”

That was a poor choice of word, he thought suddenly. Or perhaps not; perhaps he was just a little distracted by her these days. He cleared his throat and sipped his wine, and then he found himself staring again. Why was he always staring at her these days? Why did she stare back?

Her eyes were wide, searching. Curious. Her hair fell around her thin face in snarled ringlets, and suddenly Voldemort wondered what it would feel like to bury his fingers in those curls. Her full lips parted a little, and then she brought her glass to her mouth and sipped. There was something terribly alluring about the way she did it, as if she were taunting him, and Voldemort looked away.

“Your husband already has Emesis Gel,” he informed her. “I gave him three jars a month ago in case he was carrying out interrogations.”

“Oh.” Bellatrix looked very disappointed, and she set her glass down on the desk. “I’d been struggling to find him something. He’s difficult to buy for.”

“Here. Give him this.” Voldemort stood and went over to the bookshelves lining his office. He scanned with his fingers until he found just the title he was looking for. He handed it over to Bellatrix, and she read the cover aloud.

“ _ An Illustrated History of the Esteemed Lestrange Family. _ My Lord! How did you… where did you come by this, if I may ask?”

“I have histories of every Pureblood family,” Voldemort said dismissively. “I can get another copy of that one. Give that to Rodolphus.”

Bellatrix made a move for the little drawstring bag around her waist, but Voldemort snatched at her wrist and shook his head, scoffing quietly.

“I don’t want your money.”

Bellatrix stood slowly, and Voldemort realised he hadn’t released her wrist. She just stared up at him, and after a long while, he found himself  _ wanting  _ her. It was visceral, the way he found himself aching to touch her. His thumb was moving on the inside of her wrist, and all of a sudden her eyes were fluttering shut and her lips were shaking a little. Voldemort tore his hand from her and said quickly,

“Thank you again for carrying out your duty efficiently and effectively today, Madam Lestrange. As always, you are a brave and able soldier. Take the book as a token of my appreciation for your service.”

Bellatrix picked up the book and her shopping bag and nodded.

“Happy Christmas, Master,” she said, and he swallowed hard.

“Happy Christmas, Bella.”

He realised instantly what he’d said, what he’d called her, and then he couldn’t breathe. He was humiliated, feeling his cheeks go hot and he wrenched his eyes shut.  _ Please leave,  _ he found himself thinking.  _ Please just go before I do something very stupid. _

“Goodbye, My Lord,” he heard her say, and he did not respond. He just let her open the door, leave, and shut it behind her, and then he found his breath again.

 

* * *

 

_ January 1972 _

“Happy New Year’s, Bella.” Rodolphus walked over to Bellatrix and planted a kiss firmly on her cheek. She laughed and rumpled his hair and said,

“You’ve had entirely too Champagne.”

“So have you,” he shrugged. It was true; things were a bit blurry at almost one in the morning on New Year’s Day. The party she and Rodolphus had thrown was winding down, and most of their friends were heading home. Bellatrix could hear Dahlia Greengrass fretting over everyone to Apparate carefully since most of them were drunk. 

Suddenly there was a searing pain on Bellatrix’s left arm, and she dropped her flute of Champagne. It shattered on the floor, and Rodolphus took her by the shoulders.

“You all right?” he asked, Vanishing the mess. Bellatrix saw that her Dark Mark had gone black, and she frowned.

“I’ve been Summoned. Now? Something’s wrong.” She was fretting, she knew, and she had no time to fret. Rodolphus raised his eyebrows and said,

“You’d best go. Be safe. Please, send me an owl if you’ll be gone long so I know you’re all right.”

“Sorry.” Bellatrix blinked a few times and took a step back from Rodolphus, Disapparating and finding herself in the cold, dark gardens of Malfoy Manor. She was clad only in her strapless, slinky black gown from the New Year’s party, so she shivered as she walked up to the manor. Her heavy makeup was probably smudged, she thought, and her steps were uneven from the drink. She’d be less than useless in battle just now. She could only hope this was nothing serious.

She managed her way up the main staircase, but when she reached Voldemort’s office, there was no answer. She knocked, then knocked again, then knocked a third time until a portrait behind her hissed,

“He’s gone upstairs, you silly girl.”

“What?” Bellatrix whirled round, entirely too quickly, and she blinked through bleary eyes at an ancient-looking witch on the wall.

“He stays in suite upstairs; he went up there two hours ago,” the portrait said crisply. Bellatrix frowned and shrugged.

“Where’s the suite?”

“Second door from the right, just up those stairs,” the portrait said, pointing to a winding staircase down the corridor. Bellatrix scowled more deeply than ever, wondering now if something had gone horribly wrong. She pattered off down the corridor, and the portrait called, “You’re welcome, you ungrateful hussy.”

Bellatrix ignored the painting. She made it halfway up the stairs before stumbling and falling onto her hands. She slipped off her high heels and carried them in her left hand, her wand gripped in her right. She finally made it upstairs. The manor was quiet; the Malfoys were back at Castle Lestrange for the New Year’s party. Bellatrix went to the second door on the right and knocked, and after a long moment, the door swung open.

She was shocked by what she saw - Lord Voldemort, standing in a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows and the first few buttons undone, a mostly-empty bottle of Champagne in one hand. He blinked a few times and then laughed darkly.

“How were you meant to know I wasn’t in my office? Sorry. Come inside.”

Bellatrix was confused. She was tipsy; he was  _ drunk _ . She carefully followed him into the suite, which was outfitted in heavy wood and deep-toned tapestries. There was a record playing in the corner, music from the 1940s. Voldemort set his Champagne bottle down on a table and shut the door behind Bellatrix, and she cautiously set her high heels by the door.

“My Lord,” she whispered, “did you need something of me tonight?”

“Did you know,” Voldemort slurred, “that I turned forty-five years of age yesterday?”

“Oh.” Bellatrix felt her heart accelerate a little. “Happy birthday, Master.”

“Well. It isn’t my birthday anymore,” he shrugged, “and, anyway, birthdays are stupid things. So are new years. Why celebrate a date on a calendar?”

Bellatrix eyed the mostly-empty Champagne and thought that the Dark Lord had done quite a bit of celebrating, but she said nothing.

“I took you from your party. That was rude of me. Sorry.” Voldemort shrugged. Then he stared at the rug and stuck his hands into his pockets and said in a blurred voice, “I killed sixteen people yesterday. Sixteen. I needed them, you see, for a purpose I… can’t reveal to you. But I am a little tired from it. Sixteen is a lot, even for me.”

Bellatrix was in awe suddenly. She studied him, his arms and his face and the base of his throat, and suddenly a deep ache went through her.

“I can only imagine,” she murmured. “One is enough to make me sleep for ten hours.”

“Yes. It’s draining. I took Invigoration Draught,” Voldemort shrugged, “but then I drank a lot, and… well, anyway, I’d like for you to dance with me.”

That took Bellatrix entirely by surprise, and she just stood with her mouth open like a fish. Voldemort still had his hands in his pockets as he raised his eyes from the rug and mumbled again,

“Dance with me, Bella.”

“All right.” She stepped toward him and let him put his hand on the bare skin between her shoulder blades. He threaded their fingers together and they started to sway, their movements messy from drink. The song was a dreary sort of thing, which at least allowed them to move slowly. Voldemort pulled Bellatrix up a bit closer against him, and though his eyes were glazed, they still pierced her with intensity as he stared down.

“You’re married,” he whispered, and Bellatrix nodded.

“Yes, I am.”

“And I am your master,” he said, as though reminding himself. Bellatrix licked her bottom lip and said firmly,

“You are, My Lord.”

“It doesn’t work,” he whispered then. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to rid my mind of you? You’re like… an insect buzzing about that I can’t… it doesn’t help, telling myself that you’re his, that I have other things to…”

He stopped then. He stopped dancing, stopped talking, and he let his hands fall from Bellatrix. For a moment, she wasn’t sure he was all right, but then he sighed heavily and took her face in his hands. He stared down at her, a question in his dark eyes, and Bellatrix nodded silently.

He bent a little, brushing his lips against hers, and Bellatrix gasped at the sensation. She wanted more. She wanted more  _ now.  _ She found herself clutching at his white shirt as he kissed her again, harder this time, and she welcome his clumsy tongue as he dragged it along her lip and then over the roof of her mouth. She moaned like a whore into his mouth, tasting Champagne and something much deeper, and she pushed herself flush against him.

His hands tightened on her cheeks a little as he kissed her, and it seemed to go on forever. She was lost in him, lost in the taste and feel and smell of him, and when at last they tore themselves apart, she was panting for breath. She was tingling and warm all over, flushed wet between her legs. She spied a bulge in Voldemort’s trousers and quickly averted her eyes, and she heard him mutter,

“Damn it all. I should Obliviate you. No, I can’t. I’m too drunk; I’ll botch it.”

“I won’t… I’ll never bring it up again, Master,” Bellatrix promised. She felt terrified, all of a sudden, and she found herself hurrying to put her high heels back on her feet. “I should go. Rodolphus… he’ll worry.”

“Yes. Go home to your husband,” Voldemort said in a bitter sort of snarl. Bellatrix raised her eyes to him, shrugging helplessly.

“You said it yourself, Master; I am a married witch.”

Voldemort nodded and swiped his wrist over his lips.

“You’re quite right. This was… exceedingly unprofessional. Inappropriate. Regrettable. Bad.  _ Bad _ . This was very…”

“Bad,” Bellatrix whispered with a nod. She wanted to cry then, which was a most unusual sensation for her. She licked her lip and realised she could still taste him there. Her stomach clenched oddly, and she said in a tight voice,

“I… I should… go. Happy birthday, My Lord, and Happy New Year.”

He just nodded, staring at the record as it swirled round and round. Bellatrix’s heart beat a frantic tattoo in her chest as she silently left his suite, making her way on trembling legs downstairs and out through the gardens. She Disapparated back to Castle Lestrange and made up a lie about a prisoner, and then she and Rodolphus cleaned up and collapsed into bed.

When she fell asleep, she dreamed of him - of Lord Voldemort. She dreamed of dancing with him, kissing him, touching him. But when she woke, she was beside Rodolphus with a throbbing headache, and she found herself wondering if she’d imagined everything from the night before.

 

**Author’s Note: Ahhhh, yes. Feels good to be writing for these two again. Thank you for reading; please do leave a comment if you get a moment.**


	3. Chapter 3

" _The disappearance of Oliver Prewett marks the second Ministry employee to go missing in less than a week. Though those loyal to the so-called Lord Voldemort are highly suspected, the Ministry has confirmed that there is not sufficient proof to make any arrests at the present time._ "

Voldemort set down the newspaper and smirked. There were more than a dozen gathered today, and he turned his head to Yaxley as he asked smoothly,

"Yaxley, what happens when Ministry employees disappear without any answers as to where they've gone?"

"People get frightened, My Lord," Yaxley answered with a little smile. Voldemort nodded.

"Mulciber. What happens when people are frightened?"

"They are more willing to shift allegiances, Master," Mulciber confirmed. Voldemort sighed happily.

"Abraxas Malfoy, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. Avery, Mulciber, and Yaxley. I want the six of you to choose a Muggle village, somewhere remote, and completely destroy it. We need more mysterious deaths, more unanswered questions. We can't afford all-out war. Not yet. But we want them to be frightened of us. Malfoy, coordinate the attack and have it carried out within the next two weeks."

"Yes, My Lord," Malfoy nodded. Voldemort folded his copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ and said neatly,

"That will be all. Dismissed." He watched as his lackeys stood and bowed their heads, murmuring to one another as they filed out of the meeting room. As Bellatrix rose and walked beside her husband, Voldemort cleared his throat. "Madam Lestrange. A word, if you please. Rodolphus, go coordinate with Malfoy."

"Yes, My Lord." Rodolphus nodded and squeezed Bellatrix's hand before going. Voldemort pulled the heavy, wood-paneled door shut after he'd gone, and Bellatrix stayed at the other end of the long table. From where he sat, Voldemort beckoned with one finger. Bellatrix seemed very frightened then as she slowly approached him. Voldemort rolled his wand back and forth a little on the wooden surface of the table, and then he drummed his fingers as he informed her,

"It's been three days, and I've done nothing about it."

Bellatrix said nothing. She knew what he meant. If he was going to Obliviate or kill her because of the kiss they'd shared, he'd have done it by now. Voldemort stared at his wand, dragging his fingers down its length as he reminded her,

"I was very drunk."

"Yes, My Lord."

Voldemort picked up his wand and brushed his thumb along the wood as he said, "It was a stupid mistake, that's all."

There was a pause, and then she said again,

"Yes, My Lord."

"Bella,  _stop_." Voldemort slammed his wand down and glared up at her. Bellatrix seemed awfully confused, and more than a little afraid, so Voldemort flew to his feet and towered over her. She looked terrified now, shaking beneath him as she whispered,

"P-please, Master, I didn't -"

"Stop," he said again. She shrugged, her eyes welling.

"Stop  _what_?"

He didn't have a good answer for that. Stop being so damned attractive? Stop making him want her? He'd wanted her more with every passing day since New Year's. Now he found himself stepping closer to her, backing her up against the wall and bracing his arms on either side of her.

"You're married," he said, just like he'd done the night he'd kissed her, "but it doesn't matter, does it? I'm Lord Voldemort; I can have whatever I want."

Bellatrix frowned a little and shook her head. She glanced over her shoulder as if she'd see Rodolphus there, and she murmured,

"I love my husband."

"And what do you think of me?" Voldemort demanded, his voice a harsh snap. Bellatrix shrank back against the wood paneled wall a little and admitted in a helpless voice,

"I adore you, My Lord. I… dreamed of you. After you kissed me. And the next night, and the next. I relive it every moment I can."

Suddenly Voldemort found himself speechless. He squeezed his hands against the wood a little and heard the shake in his breath as he studied Bellatrix's beautiful face. Finally he told her,

"The  _Prophet_  wrote about two missing Ministry employees. They're both missing because of you. Because of what you've done for me."

"I'll always fight for you, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, and Voldemort found himself lowering his face to hers. He paused when his lips were a half inch away from hers, and their breath mingled when he murmured,

"I find you to be beautiful and clever. I think you have a dry and witty sense of humour. You are Dark, so very Dark, and I… I don't care that you're married. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix's breath quickened, and she finally whispered back, "Yes."

That was all he needed. His hands were on her waist, trailing up her ribcage slowly, and he pushed his lips onto hers. He cupped her breasts and squeezed a little, relishing the way they fit just so into his hands. He let his fingers trail up her neck, and he deepened the kiss, feeling the vibration of her moan against him. He buried his fingers in her curls, like he'd wanted to do for a long time now, and he found himself grinding his hips against her abdomen.

He  _wanted_  her. He wanted to yank down her leggings and hike up her tunic and fuck her on the table. He wanted to take her up to his suite and strip down with her and stand under the warm water of a shower.

Instead he ripped his face away and found himself staggering backward, knowing that he was about to get himself into a degree of trouble from which there was no extraction.

"I need you as a soldier," he informed her crisply, and Bellatrix nodded, breathless and red-cheeked.

"And I am married," she reminded him, but he glared at her to tell her once more that he simply did not care. Bellatrix tipped her head a little and asked him,

"Will you Obliviate me, Master? Please? It hurts to remember and to know… to know that I can't… that we can't…"

"Go home, Madam Lestrange," Voldemort said in a clip. "I shall Summon you if I have need of your combat service before our next full meeting."

She didn't hesitate even one bit, quickly fleeing the room as if it were on fire. She left so quickly that Voldemort trembled where he stood, watching the spot where she'd been and hoping a little that she might reappear. But she didn't. She was gone, and he knew he needed to find a way to stop wanting her. He'd destroy them both otherwise.

* * *

"Mmph. Bella." Rodolphus started to peel off her nightgown, and Bellatrix tried to seem enthusiastic as he put his lips to her neck. She rubbed her fingernails in circles on his scalp, and she made herself whisper,

"Dolph…"

When he pushed into her, she was far more dry than usual, and she reached with a shaking hand for her wand. She aimed it between them and mumbled,

" _Lubrico_."

"You all right?" Rodolphus asked, starting to pump his hips. Bellatrix nodded and plastered on a little smile, parting her lips and making her breath heavy. If he'd been paying closer attention, he'd have known that she wasn't aroused. Her nipples were soft; her cheeks weren't warm. But Rodolphus kissed her anyway, driving himself into her body like he'd done for more than a year now. Bellatrix took an annual dose of a powerful contraceptive potion; they'd agreed that they'd begin trying for a child in a few years' time. For now, they were just two married people making love.

Only, tonight, Bellatrix didn't want Rodolphus. Usually, she did want him. He made her wet; he made her come. But not tonight. She clenched her eyes shut and imagined it was  _him_  - her lord and master - and suddenly everything felt right. If she replaced the heavy feel of Rodolphus' body in her mind with a vision of Lord Voldemort, it felt good to be filled over and over again. In fact, Bellatrix started to flush warm and wet at the fantasy. She groaned softly, her hands coursing over Voldemort's back as she breathed in the scent of cedarwood from him.

"Oh…" She was finally feeling it, that deep sense of satisfaction. In and out, in and out, his breath warm and weighty on her lips and then her neck. Bellatrix drove her head back against the pillow and mumbled, "Oh, My Lord! Master…"

"What?"

Her eyes sprang open, and suddenly Rodolphus was hovering over her, an expression of hurt coming over his face. Bellatrix felt him start to soften inside of her, and she blinked quickly as she stammered,

"I didn't… I don't…"  
"You were imagining…  _him_? Instead of me?" Rodolphus seemed utterly wounded then, withdrawing from Bellatrix's body and moving to sit beside her. Bellatrix pushed herself up and yanked the sheets up around her chest.

"I'm so sorry, Dolph. I wasn't trying to… I love you. You know that. You know that I love you."

"You want him." A look of realisation came over Rodolphus' face then, and he choked out a little sound of disgusted horror. "Oh, Merlin's beard. The Christmas party, the way he looked at you. Summoning you on New Year's. Keeping you after the meeting."

Bellatrix shook her head quickly. "Dolph."

"You're having an affair with him, aren't you?" Rodolphus spat, his pale cheeks going red with angry betrayal. Bellatrix's eyes welled, and she asserted,

"It's not like that! I'm your wife, and I love you, and -"

"I'm going to sleep in the spare room down the corridor, Bella." Rodolphus shook his head, and as he rose from the bed and started pulling his pyjamas on, he said, "I realise how dangerous it is to get upset over something like this. He's…  _him_. He can have whatever he wants. Doesn't make it hurt any less."

Bellatrix clutched the sheets more tightly about her as he grabbed his wand from the bedside table and started to go. She called after him in a desperate voice,

"Dolph! Rodolphus!"

He didn't answer. He just opened the bedroom door and shuffled out, his head hung in dejected shame.

**Author's Note: Welp. Way to go, Bellatrix, eh? Will she tell Voldemort what she's done? Does she have a choice? How will he react? You'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out. Sorry. Haha. In the meantime, please do review if you get a quick moment.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Pardon me… My Lord?"

Voldemort turned round at the sound of Abraxas Malfoy's voice and threw up an eyebrow. He had to maintain some level of rapport with the man, he knew, seeing as how he'd essentially commandeered the family's estate as his headquarters. Still, Malfoy was his servant, so Voldemort shot him an imperious look. Malfoy asked nervously,

"May I have a private meeting, Master? Very brief, I assure you."

"Come into my office," Voldemort said in a bored voice. He led Malfoy down the corridor until he reached the heavy door that led to his capacious office, and he gestured for Malfoy to sit. When Voldemort sank into his own chair, the cold rain lashing the expansive windows behind him, he shrugged. "Well?"

"My Lord, I do not at all mean to question your judgment in placing Rodolphus Lestrange on my squad for the upcoming mission," Malfoy began cautiously, "but these last three days, he has been utterly distracted. In our rehearsals for the ambush, he has been mentally elsewhere. He isn't paying attention during meetings. I fear, Master, that something is bothering him to the point where he may be more a liability than a help."

Voldemort sucked on his teeth and tried not to show any emotion. He turned his chair a little and stared out the window at the rain.

"Did you ask him what's distracting him?"

"I did, My Lord," Malfoy said, "but he asserts there is nothing at all troubling him. I confess I do not believe him."

"And so you'd like him replaced on the mission," Voldemort nodded. "Very well. Take your nephew Maximus instead. I'll speak with Lestrange."

"Thank you, My Lord." Malfoy sounded very relieved, and Voldemort flicked his fingers toward the door to dismiss him. Once Malfoy had gone, Voldemort pressed his wand to his own Dark Mark and shut his eyes, Summoning Rodolphus Lestrange through the ether.

A few long moments later, there was a black blur on the rainy gardens outside, and Voldemort watched as Rodolphus Lestrange approached the manor. He waited then, knowing it would take time for Lestrange to get inside and up to his office. When the knock on his door sounded, he barked,

"Enter."

Rodolphus came in, soaking wet and sorrowful in appearance, and bowed his head. Voldemort scowled and nonverbally dried Lestrange off. He didn't want the man dripping water all over his office. He pointed at the chair opposite him, and when Rodolphus sat, he could see that the man hadn't been sleeping or eating well. It was obvious from the dark circles beneath his eyes, the sallow, yellowish tinge to his skin. Voldemort cleared his throat and said tightly,

"You've been pulled from the mission to destroy the Muggle village. I'll hear no argument on the matter. Now, tell me. Why is it that Abraxas Malfoy says you've been distracted to the point of uselessness?"

Rodolphus blinked a few times and shook his head minutely.

"I'm sorry, Master," he mumbled. "I shall focus my -"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake.  _Legilimens._ " Voldemort had no time for simpering, so he crashed straight into Rodolphus' mind and searched for the source of his discomfort.

_She was so wet and warm and tight, just like always. Rodolphus felt a surge of love go through his veins. How had he lucked out like this, to marry Bella of all witches? He moved his hips against her and pressed his lips to her neck, breathing in the warm aroma of her soft skin. But then, out of nowhere -_

" _Oh… oh, My Lord! Master!"_

Voldemort yanked himself from Rodolphus mind and cleared his throat softly. Rodolphus looked like he was going to be sick, and he stared down at his lap. Voldemort turned to stare out the window again, just like he'd done with Malfoy.

"People fantasise, Lestrange; it usually means nothing. Can you honestly say you've never, ever seen another witch behind your eyelids?"

There was a heavy beat of silence then, and finally Rodolphus said in a rather pitiful tone,

"I love her so much, Master, and if I… if I lost her for any reason, I do not know how I would continue."

"She could die in battle at any moment," Voldemort reminded Rodolphus rather harshly. "She is a soldier."

"Well, yes, My Lord," Rodolphus agreed, "but that's different, somehow. Losing her affection…"

"She loves you. She does. She told me so herself." Voldemort finally turned back to Rodolphus and looked the boy square in his pale eyes. Voldemort tried not to think too hard on what it meant that Bellatrix had been picturing him during sex, that she'd cried out for him with her husband inside of her. That thought was overwhelming, so he shoved it aside and told Rodolphus,

"She is your wife, and she bears you all manner of affection, Lestrange. Nothing will change that."

He could read the question without even entering Rodolphus' mind. Had the Dark Lord been physical with his wife, with his Bella? Voldemort resisted the urge to truthfully inform the boy that it had only been a few kisses, nothing more. He owed no one any explanations. He owed no one any truth. So he folded his hands on his desk and said in a low, smooth tone,

"You will get your mind back in order so that you can serve me properly, Lestrange. Useless soldiers who know too much are eliminated. You understand?"

"Yes, Master." Rodolphus nodded and twisted his fingers together on his lap. "I am sorry."

"Go," Voldemort said, lacing the single syllable with enough satin to seem merciful. As Rodolphus stood, Voldemort added in a simple voice, "Send Bellatrix here at once, will you? I'll remind her where her loyalties lie."

That was a complicated thing to suggest, he knew. Of course Bellatrix's loyalties lay almost entirely with Voldemort, but she was also Rodolphus' wife. Rodolphus seemed a bit confused, but he nodded again and whispered,

"I'll send her immediately, My Lord."

* * *

Bellatrix wrung out her curls onto the marble floor as she walked into Malfoy Manor. The rain outside was falling so hard that it had soaked her past her waterproof cloak, and she growled with frustration as she cast a few drying spells on herself. She was still freezing, shivering madly as she padded up the main stairs and down the corridor toward her master's office. She knocked firmly on the door, knowing that this meeting had been inevitable for several days now.

She walked inside when she heard him call her in, and then she froze.

He was standing in front of his desk, leaning back a little against it with his arms crossed over his robes. Somehow he looked far more handsome than she remembered. He was almost frighteningly attractive, and she couldn't explain why. Bellatrix dragged her tongue over her dry lip as she shut the office door and untied her heavy black cloak. She wordlessly hung it on the coat rack and stepped inside, bowing her head and whispering,

"Master."

"Your husband is in quite a state," Voldemort said simply. "He is so distraught by what you did to him that he has been removed from his mission until such time as he is mentally prepared to fight."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and said softly, "I do apologise, My Lord. I never meant to make trouble."

"No. You didn't. You didn't mean to actually cry out for me, did you?"

She looked up then to see that he'd approached her, that he was hovering over her. His high cheekbones went a little pink, and his throat bobbed visibly beneath the collar of his dark robes. He reached to brush his knuckles along Bellatrix's jaw, and she shivered again, this time not at all from cold.

"I couldn't enjoy it without thinking of you," she whispered, knowing she was being far too bold. This was dangerous, all of this, but she couldn't stop herself from pressing her palm against his chest and whispering at his buttons, "It felt good once I imagined it was you."

"Bella…" His voice was a warning then, a low little growl, but Bellatrix took yet another risk and raised her eyes to him. She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip and admitted,

"I was so close… that's why I called for you, Master, because I was about to -"

"Bella." He seized her face and crushed his mouth down against hers then, his kiss far more rough than any that had come before. He snatched at her hand and shoved it between the folds of his outer robes until she reached his trousers, and Bellatrix hummed with excitement when she felt the firmness there. She wanted him, so very badly, and so she caressed him through the fabric of his clothing.

"Bella." He seemed incapable of saying anything other than her name just now, and this time he sounded almost desperate. Bellatrix worked quickly at the buttons of his trousers, unfastening them as briskly as she could and pulling him out. She gasped and pulled away from his kiss as she tried and failed to close her fingers around his hard length. Voldemort smirked down at her and tipped his head as he said in a mocking whisper,

"Bit bigger than what you're used to, is it?"

Bellatrix nodded silently and ghosted her fingers along the length, watching Voldemort's eyes squeeze shut when she reached the tip. She felt a dewy drop of fluid on her thumb, and as she spread it around, he hissed and burrowed his hands into her hair. He bent to kiss her again, and Bellatrix massaged him, still awestruck by the feel of his size in her hands.

"Please," she found herself muttering against his lips. "Please, please…"

"Please what?" Voldemort's own whisper was rickety with desire, and Bellatrix met his eyes as she huffed,

"Please be inside of me… My Lord."

His dark eyes flashed, and he seemed almost overcome for a moment. He guided her with movements that were slow, almost careful, over to his desk. She slithered back and up until she was sitting on the edge, and she watched in wonder as Voldemort reached beneath the skirts of her flowing black dress. He hooked his fingers round the waist of her knickers and slid them down, past her flat-heeled leather boots, and he let them fall to the floor. He pushed her skirts up and then pressed his fingers to the folds of her womanhood, seeming breathless and hungry when he felt how wet and ready she was. On instinct, Bellatrix laced her arms up around his shoulders, and in one last desperate attempt to stop this madness, she whispered,

"I'm married."

"You're a very good solider. You are clever and fearless and beautiful, and you belong to me. You took a vow to him, Bella, but the vow you gave me means more. You understand?" Voldemort was hissing now, his voice almost snakelike with quiet determination. Bellatrix just nodded and gasped when she felt him push his tip against her entrance.

 _Big_. He was so, so big. Rodolphus was probably perfectly average in size, but it didn't feel anything like this when he entered Bellatrix. This was an outright invasion; she was being stretched and filled so thoroughly that she buried her head against Voldemort's chest and yelped against the fabric of his robes. She breathed in deeply then, taking in the scent and feel of him to try and relax her body. She managed to accommodate him, one little bit at a time. After a few slow thrusts, he'd gone most of the way in, and Bellatrix had never felt so stuffed and pushed in all her life. She moved her hands to his biceps and whispered,

"Oh, it feels… it feels so…"

"Good," he finished for her, in a complete foil to the way they'd described their kiss on New Year's. He moved carefully then, in and out over and again. It felt better than anything had ever felt, and Bellatrix linked her ankles behind his back to steady herself. She tipped her pelvis until his strokes were rubbing her just so, and then she moaned. A spike, a jolt of pure pleasure rocketed through her and didn't let up, and as she tipped her head back, her next moan was swallowed by a kiss. His tongue moved in tandem with his cock, stroking her mouth just like his manhood was working below. Bellatrix reached for his face - something she would never have dared do before - and held him there, relishing the warmth of his human flesh.

His hands soothed her thighs as he started to accelerate the motion of his hips, and after a while, Bellatrix had to break from their kiss to breathe. She was panting, desperate for something she couldn't quite reach. She gripped the edge of the desk and felt it then, the inescapable tight warmth that would only be assuaged by detonation. She came harder than she could remember doing, knowing her chest was heaving and her voice was keening and unable to do anything about that.

"Bella…  _oh_ , Bellatrix." Lord Voldemort wrapped her up in his arms then and buried himself all the way to the hilt, so deeply that Bellatrix whimpered with mild pain. She felt him twitching inside of her, felt the wet stream of his come leaking back out as he pumped his satisfaction into her. His breath came in hot huffs against her hair, and the two of them stayed like that, linked and messy, for a very long while.

Finally Voldemort pulled away and muttered a few wandless spells to siphon up all the fluids and mess. He tucked his softened member back into his trousers and closed up his robes again and Bellatrix shook wildly as she bent to pick up and put on her knickers again. She lowered her eyes as she stood before the desk, and she finally said,

"I'm so sorry, Master. I… I provoked you."

"I assure you that it was entirely consensual," Voldemort said, his voice far colder now than it had been when he'd been humming her name. He sighed deeply, and when Bellatrix raised her eyes to him, he coursed his fingers over his slightly greying hair. He shrugged and admitted,

"I have no desire to… put a stop to it. To what happened on New Year's, or in the meeting room, or here. In fact, I… I find myself wanting to work out logistics, if you will."

"Logistics," Bellatrix repeated, and suddenly she understood. He wanted her for a lover, or at least for some kind of mistress. He wanted her to be available to him, to please him when he wanted it. She had a husband, and she loved that husband, but she'd be an utter liar to pretend she didn't want more of what had just occurred in this office. Bellatrix swallowed hard and nodded. "My Lord, you need only tell me where to be and when. I am yours, as you said. I have sworn myself to you. To your… service."

Voldemort's eyes went a bit glassy then, and he blinked a few times as he pulled out his wand and Conjured a tall glass that he filled with water. Bellatrix eyed the drink jealously; she was thirsty, too, after all that. Voldemort drank half the glass and handed it over, and Bellatrix curled up her lips gratefully as she sipped from his drink. She set the empty glass down on his desk, and she heard him say,

"Your husband will need to learn to share."

"He and I will always do whatever you bid us, Master," Bellatrix said honestly. Voldemort reached to brush his fingers over Bellatrix's wild curls, and he asked,

"And do you want it?"

Him, he meant. Did she want  _him_ , to be with him like this. Bellatrix nodded slowly and whispered,

"More than anything."

He kissed her forehead, his lips pressed to her skin in a chaste gesture that lasted only a moment, and he murmured,

"Go. I shall Summon you if I need more Ministry employees to disappear. Or if I want something else."

"Thank you, My Lord." Bellatrix stared up at him, and for a very long moment, he just stared back. She could feel the same buzzing sort of warmth between them that she'd first felt dancing with him at the Malfoys' Christmas party. That reminded her of celebrations, and she asked, "Will you be at the wedding this weekend, My Lord? Polly Parkinson and Clayton Fawley."

"Oh. Erm… I had been invited, of course," Voldemort noted, "but I hadn't thought I would go. Seemed like a dull affair."

"I see. Of course." Bellatrix tried to conceal her disappointment, but Voldemort chuckled a little and said quietly,

"Of course, it would be made far more interesting with a good dance partner."

Bellatrix turned up half her mouth rather playfully and tipped her head. "With all this dancing, My Lord, we shall become proper experts."

"Good," he nodded. "I rather enjoy being an expert in things. Now go, Bella; the rain's let up for a just a little while."

* * *

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. Now they're in deep (no pun intended). How will Rodolphus deal with any potential PDA between Bellatrix and Voldemort at a public event like a wedding? Hmm… if you're reading, thank you! If you're reviewing, thank you and fifty points to your House! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

"Too much?"

"N-no. Just right." Rodolphus straightened his deep blue velvet dress robe and ogled his wife. Bellatrix smiled a little and did a cheeky turn for him, showing off the way her wispy silk gown moved. It was cut in a deep V, almost to her waist, that showed off her breasts in a way she wouldn't normally do. Braided silk crisscrossed her waist, giving way to a swishing, fluid skirt. Bellatrix had lined her eyes thickly with kohl and had charmed her shiny red lipstick to stay for the whole night. She'd worn ballet-style flats for comfort, which she knew only made her look shorter, and she asked,

"I ought not wear heels, you don't think?"

Rodolphus grinned and stepped up to her. He was short himself for a grown wizard, and as he put his arms round Bellatrix's bare shoulders, he admitted,

"I rather like feeling this much taller than you. Keep the flats, will you?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Fragile masculinity, eh?"

Rodolphus' smile faltered a little, and Bellatrix reached up to cup his soft jaw in her hand. She smiled warmly at him and asked,

"Do you remember Valentine's Day of our sixth year? You Conjured me roses."

Rodolphus scoffed and shook his head. "They wilted after a few hours. They were an utter failure."

"They meant everything to me," Bellatrix assured him. She stroked his jaw and nodded. "I loved you then, and I do now, Dolph."

He touched his forehead to hers. "Promise?"

"Promise," Bellatrix whispered. Rodolphus took a very deep breath then, and Bellatrix told him, "We should go. Grab my winter cloak just there, will you?"

* * *

"Malfoy."

"My Lord." Abraxas Malfoy pulled himself away from the conversation he'd been in with his wife and the Averys, stepping away a bit with Voldemort. The maudlin ceremony had just ended, and now House-Elves were scrambling to get the ballroom of Parkinson Hall set up for the dinner and dancing that would follow. As the guests mingled in wait, Voldemort asked Malfoy,

"Well? Is it all arranged?"

"Yes, Master." Malfoy spoke quietly but confidently. "Adbury, a village in Hampshire. We'll go in three days' time, weather permitting."

"Weather permitting?" Voldemort threw up his brows, and Malfoy explained,

"If it is pouring rain, My Lord, it might slow us down or, worse, put out any fires we set."

"Ah. Of course." Voldemort smiled a little and nodded. "Well. Send me an owl at once when it's finished, and we'll meet the morning after to debrief and await Ministry and newspaper coverage."

"Naturally, My Lord. Rest assured that we will serve you properly."

"See that you do. Enjoy yourself tonight," Voldemort said. He stepped away from Malfoy and was approached then by the bride and groom. Polly Parkinson - now Fawley - dipped into a deep and reverential curtsy. Neither she nor her husband, nor either of their families, were in the inner circle of Death Eaters, but they were all loyal Purebloods. It had to have been a surprise, therefore, to find out the Dark Lord would be in attendance. Extra effort had been made with decorations, he could tell. Now Polly spoke in a nervous voice and said,

"My Lord… we are so very honoured, so very privileged to have you in attendance, sir."

"Yes," agreed Clayton Fawley, taking his new wife's hand. "It is an unexpected pleasure, My Lord, that you're here. Thank you very kindly for coming."

Voldemort nodded and sniffed a little. His eyes flicked up to a figure behind the newly married couple. It was Bellatrix, looking so beautiful Voldemort's stomach ached. He'd kept his eyes off her for the most part up until now, but he could hardly stand it anymore. He glanced back to Clayton and Polly Fawley. "I wish you both a long and happy marriage. Congratulations to the two of you. If you'll excuse me."

He started to stride over to where Bellatrix stood, but he stopped himself when he saw Rodolphus' hand go to the small of Bellatrix's back. Her husband's fingers tightened a little on her there, and Voldemort felt an inexplicable wave of nausea course through his veins. He turned away and made conversation with Mulciber about Mulciber's sickly mother-in-law for a few minutes. Clayton and Polly Fawley performed the ceremonial first dance, so Voldemort and Mulciber paused in conversation. As the dance floor opened, Bellatrix was led out by Rodolphus. She glanced over her shoulder and made eye contact with Voldemort, and he blinked quickly as he realised he'd been staring again. He forced his eyes down into his glass of red wine and said to Mulciber,

"So it is a particularly dreadful case of dragon pox, then?"

"Well, My Lord, the Healers at St Mungo's have been trying their very best," Mulciber said, "but they say she's got a month on the outside."

"Let me know when the witch passes," Voldemort said with a crisp nod, "so that I might attend the funeral."

"That is most generous, Master," Mulciber said. Voldemort looked up then and watched Bellatrix dancing with Rodolphus, the way they were smiling at one another and talking rather animatedly. He saw their hands clutched together, and suddenly he thought that he should just kill Rodolphus Lestrange and take Bellatrix for his own. After all, Lestrange was just a silly little boy, and…

And killing him would crush Bellatrix in all the wrong ways. Voldemort took a deep sip of his wine and passed it to a House Elf that was hobbling by, and he said quietly,

"Good evening, Mulciber."

"My Lord," acknowledged Mulciber from behind him. Voldemort strode very confidently toward the dance floor, ignoring the way the crowd of revelers parted like a sea before him. He walked straight toward Bellatrix and Rodolphus, whose dancing stopped as he neared. Voldemort flashed Rodolphus the tiniest little smile and said in a bland tone,

"May I cut in, Rodolphus?"

"Of course, My Lord." Rodolphus stepped away from Bellatrix, looking ashamed. He squeezed at his wife's hand and then bowed a little, walking off toward his brother Rabastan. Voldemort quickly pulled into a dancing position with Bellatrix, and when his hand pressed against bare skin, he smirked and asked her,

"Do you ever wear anything that covers your back?"

"Not when I'm dancing with you, apparently… My Lord." Bellatrix smiled a little at him, so cheeky that he was tempted to scold her, but all he could do was gaze unabashedly at her revealed chest. He raised his eyes to her again, and she seemed a little more serious, but still flirtatious, as she asked,

"Do you mind it? The feel of my back beneath your hand?"

"No," he whispered, shaking his head a little. "No. I don't mind. You left your hair down."

She'd used Sleakeazy's or some such potion, for her curls were shiny and lacked frizz, but she'd let them fall loose around her neck and shoulders. She pursed her ruby lips and narrowed her eyes up at him, and she almost sounded teasing as she said,

"You know, Master, I had it up. My hair. I had it in a braided bun at the back of my head. But then I remembered that you said you preferred it down, and so I took it down… because you must always be given exactly what you want… My Lord."

He could hardly breathe then. He couldn't see straight; he couldn't think. Somehow he kept dancing, but he squeezed at Bellatrix's hand and studied her beautiful milky skin. He wanted her, more badly than he would have been able to articulate. He gulped past the enormous lump in his throat and managed to keep moving as a new song started up. He tightened his fingers on Bellatrix's back and told her quietly,

"Malfoys… expedition. It's happening in three days. A week or so afterward, I want another Ministry employee missing. Choose someone they'll notice gone quickly. Make it quick. Elegant. You want them to vanish. We must keep up the momentum, keep them on their toes."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded vigorously. "I shall choose someone appropriate and keep you apprised of the situation."

"Good girl," Voldemort nodded. Then he tipped his head a little and whispered again, "You're a good girl, Bella."

"Am I?" Her cheeks went a little pink all of a sudden, and he watched as her lips parted a little. She blinked a few times and whispered, "Come into my head, Master."

He furrowed his brows and thought,  _Legilimens._  He held Bellatrix more closely then to steady her against the force of his invasion, and he was immediately confronted with something her mind was shoving forth. It was a vision. A fantasy, Voldemort realised quickly. He was inside of her, above her on a bed, and all she could think of was how enormous he was within her, the way it felt to be so thoroughly filled by him.

Voldemort pulled himself quickly from Bellatrix's mind and stared down, noticing just how near he'd pulled her, and he hissed rather playfully,

"Perhaps you're not such a good girl, after all."

"Perhaps not, My Lord." Bellatrix's eyes were hazy with want - with  _need_  - and her breath was trembling between her shining red lips. The song ended, and Voldemort forced himself to let go of Bellatrix's hand. Removing his palm from her back was much more difficult, and stepping back from her was nearly impossible. Finally, he managed.

Someone must be noticing, he thought suddenly. Someone must be noticing the way he was staring at Bellatrix Lestrange, the way their eyes were locked, the way she was panting up at him as if they'd just had sex instead of danced slowly. Voldemort nodded and mumbled,

"Thank you for the dance, Madam Lestrange."

She dipped a little and lowered her eyes. "My Lord."

He walked away as quickly as he could then, determined to find conversation about battle, about finances, about something droll and dull and not at all Bellatrix. He needed to find someone else, and quickly, to engage him in conversation, because if he didn't stop himself, he'd dance with her the entire rest of the night.

Instead he watched her leave with Rodolphus at ten, and she glanced back over his shoulder as she neared the ballroom door on her husband's arm. She smiled just a little at him, and Voldemort nodded once, giving her a serious look. Once she'd gone, he felt it - a physical ache of separation he'd never, ever experienced before.

He quickly excused himself from the wedding and went back to Malfoy Manor, where he knocked back half a bottle of Dreamless Sleep, determined not to see her face in his mind again until the morning.

**Author's Note: Awwww… that was… almost fluffy. Ha. Don't worry; Bellatrix-Killing-People and Lemons to resume shortly. :}**


	6. Chapter 6

This was going to be a good meeting. Bellatrix knew that to be so, because Malfoy's expedition had been a smashing success. Once it was clear that it had been Dark magic to kill the Muggles and burn their houses, fear had rippled through the wizarding world.

So now, as Bellatrix approached Malfoy Manor hand-in-hand with Rodolphus, she knew she was about to face a cheerful Lord Voldemort. That was what made her stop her boots on the frosted grass. Her breath puffed before her as Rodolphus turned, and she sighed.

"He sent me an owl earlier today," Bellatrix informed her husband. "He asked me to stay after the meeting's over."

"Stay," Rodolphus repeated. His face fell a little, and he asked, "For how long?"

"I don't know," Bellatrix admitted, and she watched the little changes in Rodolphus' face as he came to grips with his new reality. He finally met Bellatrix's eyes and asked her softly,

"Are you in love with him?"

"I don't know," she said again, her voice breaking a little. She shrugged and shook her head. "No, I don't think… probably not. I know I'm in love with you, Dolph."

He scoffed a little, his eyes welling suddenly. "How very nice for the both of you. To have your cake and eat it, too."

"Careful," Bellatrix warned. Voldemort could easily look into Bellatrix's head and see Rodolphus' comments, which could earn him torture or worse. Rodolphus nodded, his nose red from impending tears or the cold or both. Bellatrix seized his face with one hand and pushed the hood of her heavy cloak back with the other, and she ordered him, "Kiss me, Rodolphus."

He hesitated, but then he bent and touched his lips carefully to hers. Bellatrix shook her head wildly and insisted,

" _Kiss_  me."

He did, wrapping his arms around her and pulling into a close embrace. He pushed his tongue affectionately between her lips and explored her mouth. It was a familiar and comfortable kiss; it didn't send shockwaves down Bellatrix's spine, but she enjoyed it. She hummed quietly into her husband's mouth, and when he pulled away, she stared into his pale eyes and insisted,

"I married you because I loved you. And I love you today."

"You can't have both of us, Bellatrix," Rodolphus shrugged. "How am I meant to share you? I can't… I can't share you. Not even with him."

"Careful," Bellatrix whispered again, but this time Rodolphus just let her go and walked quickly toward the manor.

* * *

He'd been in a fine mood until he'd made the mistake of gazing out a corridor window.

Lord Voldemort had been waiting gleefully for his minions to arrive for what was meant to be a celebratory meeting. But then he'd paused to watch two figures on the frost-encrusted lawn. Bellatrix and Rodolphus, he'd realised at once. They were walking hand in hand, which bothered Voldemort for some annoying reason.

Then things had gotten much worse. He'd watched as they'd stopped, as they'd talked for a moment. He'd seen Bellatrix push her hood back and hold her husband's cheek in her gloved hand, and then they'd kissed. Once, carefully, then very, very deeply. They'd talked some more, and then Rodolphus had come into the manor five steps ahead of Bellatrix.

The little slut.

She was married. Voldemort knew that. But there had been real, deep affection in the way she'd kissed Rodolphus. The little whore actually  _wanted_  them both. Well, Lord Voldemort did not play second fiddle to anyone, much less the twenty-year-old husband of a complete harlot.

So now, as he sat before an assemblage of happy-faced Death Eaters, he forced a tiny bit of energy into his voice as he handed a copy of the newspaper to Avery and barked,

"Read the headline aloud."

Avery hesitated for a half second, seeming rather confused by the way his master was apparently angry. He cleared his throat and read,

" _MAGICAL MAYHEM KILLS 14 MUGGLES IN ADBURY - DARK MARK SEEN IN SKY OVER HAMPSHIRE._ "

"Malfoy, did I tell you to cast the Dark Mark into the sky?" Voldemort demanded, and Malfoy seemed shocked that he was now under interrogation. He finally shook his head and admitted,

"N-no, Master. You did not."

"You made it rather obvious that it was  _us_ ," Voldemort hissed. "I've told you. We can't afford open war yet. We need these disappearances and attacks to sow discord and confusion, not to unify everyone else against us. Stand."

Malfoy pushed himself slowly to his feet, and Voldemort jabbed his wand at the wizard he'd known since he'd been a schoolboy called Tom Riddle.

" _Crucio!"_  Voldemort cried, and Malfoy collapsed to the floor, writhing and shrieking in agony. Voldemort only held the spell for a half a minute, and then he released it, leaving Malfoy a choking, spluttering mess on the carpet.

"We go silent and invisible for a solid two months now," Voldemort snapped. He turned his eyes to Bellatrix, narrowing them in disgust, and he said to the group, "I'm calling off my dogs. Every last one. Until further notice. Malfoy. Malfoy, stand up!"

Abraxas Malfoy heaved himself to his feet, his white-blond hair a rumpled mess as silent tears streamed down his cheeks. Voldemort shook his head and turned his eyes away. He'd only been mildly distressed about the Dark Mark before; he'd meant to chide Malfoy playfully over it. Things were different now.

"This attack bore the Dark Mark and will galvanise the entire Ministry and most of the wizarding world against us for a bit. Everyone lay low and stay out of trouble until further notice. Dismissed. Get out of my sight."

Any earlier sense of happiness evaporated entirely from the meeting space as the Death Eaters dispersed - all of them except for Bellatrix.

* * *

"I said you were dismissed," Voldemort hissed once everyone else had gone. Bellatrix stared at the copy of the  _Daily Prophet_ on the table, confused that he'd been this upset about the Mark in the sky. She cleared her throat and reminded him,

"You asked me to stay, Master."

"I've changed my mind," he said lightly, his voice dangerous. "It's a thing people do… changing their minds."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, but she nodded and whispered, "Good day, then, My Lord."

She started to go, but he snatched roughly at her wrist as she passed by his chair. She gasped as he heaved himself up to stand. He loomed over her and snarled,

"I saw you. You little slut. I saw you kissing him."

Bellatrix felt her eyes sear with shock, and she muttered defensively, "My Lord, he is my husband. Wives often kiss their husbands."

She cried out then, for he'd gripped her wrist so tightly that it felt like it might snap. She knew there was terror in her eyes as she stared up at him, and his nostrils flared with rage.

"You insubordinate whore," he growled, shoving roughly at Bellatrix's shoulder. She staggered backward, away from him, and then she started to cry. She almost never cried; she couldn't even remember the last time she'd properly done it. But she sobbed now, leaning back against the wall and tipping her head against the wood.

"What am I meant to do, Master?" she asked woefully. "I am a married witch. Do you want me to leave him? Do you want me to leave  _you_? Please, please just tell me what -"

"You must choose," Voldemort said firmly. "Either he dies or the two of you have a celibate marriage. I will not share you."

That was similar to what Rodolphus had said, except that Rodolphus' refusal to share hadn't been accompanied by a death threat. Bellatrix shook her head and gulped.

"How could I possibly condemn him to die?"

Voldemort's dark eyes went hard and sharp as coal. "You will inform Rodolphus that he's to sleep in a separate bed from you, that he's not to lay a hand upon you, and that -"

"Do you honestly think I could possibly want you now?" Bellatrix spat the words impulsively, and suddenly she found herself hovering up in the air, Voldemort's hand shaking fiercely as he used nonverbal, wandless magic to yank her away from the wall. His face had gone red, and the veins in his neck jutted forth as he stared up at Bellatrix. She couldn't move; he'd utterly immobilised her. Her chest felt like someone had put a boulder upon it. She couldn't even blink. She just stared down at him, terrified that he was about to kill her.

Then she saw something crackle in the utterly horrifying shell he'd wrapped around himself. His dark eyes shimmered with something very strange, and he slowly lowered his hand and released the spells he'd put on Bellatrix. He turned away from her, crossing his arms over his robes, and he said in a very low voice,

"I have always been jealous of what others have that I've wanted. And I've always taken those things for my own. Always. I have never coveted and not thieved, Bellatrix, and I do covet you. Badly. But I will not thieve. Not this time. Go home to your husband."

Bellatrix hesitated, but Lord Voldemort turned his head and stared at her over his shoulder, and there was almost palpable sorrow in his tone as he nodded once and told her,

"Goodbye, Bella."

She swiped at the fresh tears that had come to her eyes, and as she made her way from the meeting room, she whispered back,

"Goodbye, My Lord."

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. But surely Voldemort isn't going to just give up that easily, eh? After all, he covets her. Badly. ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

"Bella? Are you ready to go?"

Bellatrix stared into the bathroom mirror, smearing a little more Sleakeazy's onto her tightly bound hair. She'd straightened her curls entirely tonight and had yanked her hair up into a high, silky ponytail. She'd done that because she knew Lord Voldemort would be at Malfoy Manor for the small dinner party tonight to which she and Rodolphus had been invited.

She'd not seen Voldemort in two weeks, not since he'd called her a slut and a whore and had nearly killed her. She hadn't heard from him, either, for they were all meant to be lying low in the wake of Abraxas Malfoy's big mistake. This dinner party was an apology of sorts, Bellatrix knew. It was just a small group invited. It was meant to publicly put the penitent Abraxas Malfoy back into his lord's good graces.

Bellatrix had used frosted, pale pink lipstick tonight, and she'd winged black eyeliner away from her dark eyes. She wore a high necked dress of black lace with long sleeves, but it was quite short, almost scandalously short. She wore knee-high boots with lethal-looking heels and a diamond-encrusted silver cuff round one wrist.

Rodolphus came into the bathroom, for he'd not received an answer to his earlier question. He jolted to a stop in the doorway and blurted,

"Bloody hell, Bella."

"What?" she demanded, frowning at his reflection as he stepped behind her. "Do I look silly?"

Rodolphus' cheeks flushed a little. "No. You look… amazing."

Bellatrix smirked. "Good. Let's go."

* * *

"Mister Rabastan Lestrange," announced Dobby, the Malfoys' wheezy little House-Elf, from the doorway of the dining room. Rabastan came in and bowed a bit to where Voldemort sat at the head of the table. He shook hands with Abraxas and his wife Cerda, then with the Averys, and he took a seat across from Malika Shacklebolt, the dark-skinned and beautiful young witch Voldemort had invited out of sheer curiosity. Beside Malika was another pretty young woman, Edwina Fawley, the sister of the young wizard whose wedding Voldemort had attended. Rabastan Lestrange began an animated conversation with Malika, and Voldemort sniffed a little as he stared at Edwina Fawley.

She was tall and lithe and blonde, and she'd left Hogwarts just the summer before. She'd also been Imperiused by Voldemort to flirt relentlessly with Rodolphus Lestrange once he arrived. They knew one another, Voldemort thought. They'd at least been at Hogwarts at the same time. And Edwina was not Bellatrix.

"Mister and Madam Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange," called Dobby from the doorway, and Voldemort snapped his attention to watch them come in.

He scowled.

She looked almost achingly gorgeous in a dress that was asking to be hiked up so she could be bent over and fucked from behind. Her face had been painted just so. But she'd straightened her curls and yanked them into a ponytail. She'd done that to spite him; she'd done it because she knew he liked her hair wild, and she hated him right now.

He said nothing as the two of them sat. Edwina Fawley flashed Rodolphus a dazzling, white-toothed grin, and she said happily,

"Rodolphus! I used to pass you every day on my way to Divination. I was a Hufflepuff; not sure if you remember me."

"Oh, yes, Edwina." Rodolphus gave her a congenial look. "I remember you. Good to see you again."

"It's very good to see you, too." Edwina stuck her chest out a little, revealing her ample cleavage in her low-cut satin robes. Suddenly Bellatrix glared at Voldemort, and he cocked up an eyebrow at her.

She knew. She could tell that Edwina Fawley was acting out of character. Bellatrix was too intelligent for this game; she knew that Voldemort had Imperiused the young witch to flirt with her husband.

She frowned and stabbed at her asparagus and hollandaise sauce as conversation around the table turned to Quidditch.

"I tried so hard to follow the matches when I was at school," said Malika Shacklebolt, "but, Rabastan, you were always throwing around terms I didn't understand in the Common Room. What was it, the plump… plump…"

"The Plumpton Pass," Rabastan Lestrange nodded, grinning with genuine admiration toward Malika. "Yes. I accidentally lost Slytherin a match to Hufflepuff once; caught the Snitch in my sleeve and thought it was a billywig or something. Anyway."

"Rodolphus, you played for Slytherin, too," Edwina observed. "I remember. Those green robes looked so good on you; they really complemented your hair and eyes."

Now even Rodolphus seemed confused, and the Malfoys and Averys and Mulcibers seemed outright horrified. Bellatrix stared red-faced at her plate, and Voldemort peered into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency. She'd feel him in there, he knew, and he watched her wince. Then he felt her thoughts flying at him.

_Please stop punishing me like this._

He yanked himself from her mind and released Edwina Fawley from her Imperius Curse. She blinked slowly a few times and started eating her steak along with everyone else. The conversation turned to the weather, and then to new broomstick technology, and then to high witches' fashion and the price of it. All the while, Voldemort stayed silent, staring on and off at Bellatrix. She barely ate, he noticed, and suddenly he felt something incredibly unfamiliar.

Guilt.

He felt guilty, having humiliated her in front of everyone just to try and divert her husband away from her. Only, it seemed, he'd triggered some kind of genuine interest between Rodolphus Lestrange and Edwina Fawley. There was no Imperius Curse dictating her actions now, but Edwina was still flirting away, giggling like an empty-headed moron as she and Rodolphus discussed the differences between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff Common Rooms. During dessert, the men from the Avery, Mulciber, and Malfoy clans held a quiet conversation, and their wives did the same. Rabastan Lestrange and Malika Shacklebolt seemed to be having a deep sort of discussion, and Edwina Fawley kept smiling and chatting with Rodolphus Lestrange.

Bellatrix poked her fork at her trifle, pushing it around her plate a little. Voldemort contemplated entering her mind again, but he knew what he'd find. He realised no one was paying any attention at all to either of them, so he leaned toward her a little and said just loudly enough for her to hear,

"Bella, would you stay after, please? Just… a brief talk in my office."

Bellatrix kept staring down at her dessert, but she nodded.

"Yes, Master," she said blankly. "As you command."

That wounded him, for some reason. He looked at his own trifle and felt absolutely no desire to eat it. Once the plates had been cleared and the talk died down, he said firmly,

"Thank you all for the fine company. Abraxas, Cerda… thank you for the hospitality. Madam Lestrange, if you'd stay to discuss those logistics, please."

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix nodded, and Voldemort was shocked to watch Rodolphus plant a quick peck on Bellatrix's cheek and tell her he'd see her at home. Then he and Edwina Fawley walked from the dining room together, still chatting. Voldemort made his way to his office, glancing over his shoulder when he realised Bellatrix was just a few steps behind him. He waited for her and then pushed open the office door, beckoning her inside. He shut the door behind them, and he muttered,

"It was stupid of me to Imperius her."

"It seems you've done Dolph quite a favour, My Lord; he seems  _awfully_  fond of her with or without the Curse."

Voldemort licked his lip and tried to speak. He was lousy at this, at apologising, for he almost never did it. Not sincerely, anyway. He'd been known to apologise to manipulate people, to get things from them, but this time he meant it, and it made it infinitely harder to say the words. Finally he whispered, his voice barely audible to his own ears,

"I am sorry, Bellatrix."

She looked shocked by that, and she said nothing. She pulled her silky straight ponytail over one shoulder and dragged her fingers through her hair, as if to make a point by doing so. She shrugged and told him,

"If I'd known I was going to wind up wanting my lord and master so very badly, I never would have married Rodolphus."

"But you did," Voldemort nodded. "You love him."

"I do," Bellatrix nodded, "but it isn't the same. It doesn't as deep, I don't think."

His chest crumpled just a little at that, and he found himself rather frantically pouring them each a glass of elf-made wine. He shut his eyes and told Bellatrix,

"He'll wind up tangled naked with that girl, with Edwina Fawley. He'll do it because he feels betrayed, and it will give him comfort to be pined after like that."

"I know." Bellatrix sipped from her wine after she took the glass from Voldemort. She scoffed quietly and said, "I can hardly blame him. I haven't let him kiss or touch me since out in the gardens before the meeting that day."

Voldemort frowned. "Why not?"

She gave him a look almost as if he were stupid, and she took a larger sip of wine.

"You told me to choose," she reminded him, and then she very quickly added, "Master."

"I sent you away," he corrected her, but Bellatrix shook her head.

"It's too late now; I could never fully be his again. Not after… dancing and…"

He watched her cheeks flush then, and he suddenly found himself suggesting,

"Come upstairs to my suite."

Bellatrix raised her wide eyes to him then, her gaze sparkling with all manner of questions. Voldemort set his wine down on his desk and informed her crisply,

"I have spent these last two weeks trying to convince myself to simply… not have you. That endeavour has been a dismal failure. I must have you, and if I must share you, then I will."

She was silent for another long moment, her red-painted fingernails drumming anxiously on her crystal wine glass. Voldemort felt self-conscious suddenly, and he began to ramble.

"I have never desired a witch for more than one reason, Bella. I have found some to be appealing in how intelligent they were. Others I found beautiful but dim-witted. Some I thought were Dark and talented, but not attractive in any other way. But you…  _you_. I can not rid my dreams of you, much less my waking thoughts. You are so divinely wicked, so clever and pleasant to be around. And yes, you are beautiful, even when you wear your hair up and straight to make me angry."

She actually smiled a little then, though her dark eyes glistened with emotion. Voldemort took a step toward her and snatched her wine away, setting it beside his as he took her face in his hands.

"I don't just want conversation with you. I don't just want dances. I don't just want to rut you like an animal, Bella. I want… all of it. All of you, you understand? And I will break my own rules to have you. I will… make a fool of myself to have you. I can not accept the idea of  _not_ having you, and I have tried. I have tried."

He bent to kiss her then, very delicately, and he whispered against her pale pink lips,

"Come upstairs with me to my suite, Bellatrix, and stay the night."

Still she said nothing, but her hands covered his and her breath quickened against his mouth. He didn't want to command her, but he could hardly beg, so Voldemort just mumbled,

"Say you'll stay the night, Bella."

"Yes, My Lord," she answered at last, leaning up to kiss him carefully. Then she smirked just a little, and she informed him, "This Sleakeazy's washes right out, you know. Put me in a shower, and my hair will be wild and curly again when I get out."

Voldemort pulled back from her and flashed her a crooked grin. He nodded and brushed his thumb under her eye as he said,

"All right, you petulant little creature. I'll put you in a shower, and you'll find out just what sorts of things can happen when you're… wet."

Her frosted lips fell open then, and she nodded as she whispered, "Let's go."

**Author's Note: If you can't taste the lemonade headed your way, here's your warning that the next chapter is going to be a very, very juicy extravaganza. :} Thanks for reading; please do review if you get a moment.**


	8. Chapter 8

Everything was a blur.

The way Bellatrix was dragged into the suite by her master's grasping, long fingers. The way he nearly tore her dress from her before she helped him with the zip, the way she unclasped his outer robes. The way he finally Banished all of their clothes to a pile in the corner until they stood there, naked and panting and kissing one another as if they'd drown otherwise.

His tongue was so eager, so insistent in her mouth, and Bellatrix groaned with want as she tasted wine on him. He pulled her bottom lip between his teeth and shoved her roughly through the parlour of his suite, toward the bedroom. Bellatrix stumbled backward as Voldemort wrenched at the black velvet ribbon binding her straightened hair up into a ponytail. He let it flutter to the ground and paused to kiss her again, his hands going everywhere.

Up her ribcage, squeezing her breasts, around her back to the place where he held her when they danced, down her arms and then lacing her fingers through his. He kissed her through it all, running his fingers through her silky black hair and then growling,

"Shower. Shower, Bella,  _now._ "

He dragged her toward the bathroom, a slick black-tiled space in which a cavernous, luxurious shower awaited. He flicked his hand toward the shower, and his wandless magic sent hot water cascading from the broad head on the wall. It started to steam up in the bathroom, and Voldemort smirked down at Bellatrix as he touched her hair.

"It's going wavy," he informed her, and she whispered back,

"It's the steam."

"Good." He pressed her against the cold tile wall and knifed his hand between her thighs, his fingertips brushing over her damp folds. He kissed her so hard that her head slammed back against the tile, and then he was mumbling apologies against her mouth.

"Shower," she said, and he nodded. He looked more human now than ever, his eyes still dangerous but softened a little. His dark gaze was still aggressive, but now it seemed possessive in a way that made Bellatrix completely soaked between her legs. She followed him past the glass half wall and let him put her straight under the stream of hot water. It soaked her hair, and Bellatrix reached for the glass jar of hair cleanser on the inlaid shelf. She took a little of the cream, not minding its profoundly masculine aroma as she scrubbed at her scalp. She let Voldemort drag smoothing oil through her hair, and when his fingers snarled in her curls, she grinned at him and said in a sly tone,

"It'll be utterly mad when it dries. Curly and frizzy and -"

He cut her off with a kiss, using a bar of soap to scrub at her flesh and then his own. He put some of the soap onto her hands and broke away, encouraging her, to wrap her fingers around his cock. Bellatrix stared down at it, at the way it prodded her abdomen so eagerly. She moved her hands back and forth, utterly taken aback at the deep length, at the unconquerable girth. She found herself asking cautiously,

"Is it… did you take some sort of potion?"

He laughed at her then, and Bellatrix glared up at him with gall she didn't know she'd possessed. Voldemort shook his head and said rather snidely,

"I didn't even know it was particularly large until a fellow seventh-year Slytherin, a promiscuous girl called Myrandae, let me take her one time and then told the entirety of Hogwarts about just how big I was."

He seemed awfully proud of himself, and now it was Bellatrix's turn to laugh. She swirled her palm around his tip and made him hiss, and his right hand flew to the tile wall as Bellatrix said,

"I doubt you corrected her. Myrandae. I'll bet you let her go about bragging about this… didn't you, Master?"

"Are you taunting me, Bella?" He gave her a warning look, but she shook her head and let the warm water rinse off his enormous member.

"No, My Lord. I'm not taunting you. I just want to please you."

She sank down onto her knees, down onto the tile, and she stared up at Voldemort as the hot water sprayed against his chest. She stared at his cock, feeling a throbbing want between her legs and a coil of need in her lower belly. She opened her mouth and pushed the tip between her lips, quickly realising she wasn't going to be able to do much for him like this. She had to open her mouth as widely as possible just to get him inside, and she barely got beyond the tip before she was gagging. He still seemed to like it; he moaned quietly from above her. But the times Bellatrix had done this to Rodolphus, she'd used her tongue to caress him inside her mouth. She'd suckled on his length. She couldn't do that here, not with what the Dark Lord had. All she could do was let her eyes water as she tried and failed to do anything more than stuff her mouth and throat. She didn't even make it halfway down his shaft before she nearly vomited.

"Bellatrix."

The water was shut off then, and Voldemort was pulling her up, turning up half his mouth as he brushed his knuckles over her jaw. He bent to touch his lips to her wet cheekbone, and he whispered,

"I need to be inside of you."

She just nodded and let him dry them with wandless magic, his hands scanning around their forms as warm, dry air seemed to wash over them. He smiled a little and touched at Bellatrix's wild curls, and he nodded.

"Much better."

He walked out of the shower then, and Bellatrix just followed him into the bedroom as he snatched his wand from the ground and lit the wall sconces. He set his wand down beside the bed and jerked his chin up to the bed.

"Hands and knees," he said crisply. Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot, but she obeyed him. No matter what came to pass, she would always obey him. She shut her eyes and nibbled her lip anxiously as she let her hands sprawl on the blankets, feeling the rough brocade beneath her knees. The mattress warped and shifted as Voldemort climbed up behind her. His fingers brushed back and forth along Bellatrix's wet folds, and she couldn't stay quiet. She let her head drop, let her curls fall around her face, and she huffed out a little sound.

"Do you want me, Bella?" His voice was lethal and silken at once, and Bellatrix just nodded and hummed frantically,

"Mmm-hmm."

"Tell me," he commanded her. Bellatrix forced herself to look over her head, and she mumbled,

"Oh, My Lord. I want you more than… more than air."

He chuckled. "You  _need_  air," he teased, his fingers still caressing her. "You don't  _need_  me. You just want me."

"No," Bellatrix argued boldly. "No, Master. I need you."

His eyes flashed, and suddenly he'd lined his tip up with her entrance. Bellatrix wrenched her eyes shut as he started to push in. She cried out loudly as he inched into her, the stretching and burning far more intense than what she'd experienced as a virgin on her wedding night. She collapsed down onto her elbows and buried her face into one of the pillows. He pushed in more deeply, and Bellatrix cinched her fingers around the down pillow. He thrust in harder, and she screamed. The pillow muffled it, but it was a scream just the same.

_Big_. No.  _Enormous_. So big she could hardly take him. Back and forth, in and out, shallow at first, tentative, careful. He let her stretch, let her body get used to him, and then he started to speed up his shallow thrusts. They grew deeper, and at this angle, it was so intense Bellatrix knew she'd fall off the cliff any moment. Deeper and deeper, faster and faster, until he was pounding her, he sped up his hips and held fast to her little waist. Bellatrix was drowning then, barely able to breathe as she drooled and sobbed against the pillow. She wondered distantly if it would always be this intense with him, if she'd ever grow accustomed to the feel of this. She didn't want to get used to it. She liked it like this - rough and jagged, dancing the line between pleasure and pain.

The pleasure won that argument. She came after a long while of the thrusting, her body snapping tightly around his shaft as Voldemort grunted in acknowledgement of what he'd made her do. His hands tightened on her waist, and suddenly he was so deep inside of Bellatrix that she shrieked again. She turned her head from the pillow, desperate for air, gasping and crying as he buried himself until she thought he'd tear her apart.

"Bella," she heard him mumble. "Bella, Bella, Bella… oh. Bellatrix. I… Bella…"

He was rambling as he came, his seed jetting into her and then squeezing out in an obscene leak down the back of her thigh. When he pulled himself out, it was like a massive part of Bellatrix had been abruptly and surgically removed. She'd been so filled by him, and now she felt so empty. She stayed kneeling as Voldemort cleaned them both up, his wand brushing carefully up her thigh and around her womanhood. He cast another nonverbal spell, something that soothed the searing ache he'd inflicted on her.

Bellatrix blinked through her sudden fatigue, and she slowly rolled to lie on her side, onto the pillow that had mercifully absorbed her voice during it all. She lay there panting, her heart still thrumming, and then Voldemort appeared beside her. He encouraged her to move beneath the blankets, which he pulled up around the both of them.

He just stared at her, the same way he'd stared at the Malfoy Christmas Party, the way that had awakened in Bellatrix a newfound craving for her master. His hand stroked at her hair, at her cheek, and he said in a strict sort of murmur,

"I was a fool to think I could somehow go without you. I… require your presence. Not just as a soldier. I require your presence as my companion, you understand?"

Bellatrix nodded silently. She covered his hand on her cheek and whispered,

"I felt like I was dying."

"What do you mean?" he demanded, and Bellatrix squeezed at his fingers a little.

"Master, after you… after we'd already been together, after we'd kissed and danced and you'd taken me in your office… after all that, when I thought you'd sent me away for good, I felt like I was dying. Every night I'd wake with pain in my gut and head. I cried like a child. I dissolved a little more every day."

"Well," Voldemort said quite firmly, "you're here now. And you're staying the night."

Bellatrix nodded against his hand, wondering distantly if her husband was still off with Edwina Fawley. It didn't matter. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore. Bellatrix's eyelids felt very heavy then, and she said,

"Goodnight, Master."

He pulled her against him, letting her put her head on his chest and curl her leg across his thighs, and he brushed his lips against her wild curls.

"Goodnight, Bellatrix."

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. So these two are getting more than a little intimate, and Rodolphus may or may not be finding comfort elsewhere. Implications…? Thank you so much for reading. Next update won't be until late tomorrow, so if you get a chance to review, I'd greatly appreciate it.**


	9. Chapter 9

Of all the concessions Lord Voldemort was willing to make to accommodate Bellatrix,  _being clingy_  was not one of them.

Therefore, he kept himself from her entirely for five days, focusing his mental energies on the political machinations that would help him ascend to authority. Finally, on the sixth day after waking up beside her, he Summoned her to Malfoy Manor, waiting patiently in his office with a file folder on the stout wooden desk before him.

"Enter," he said smoothly when he heard knocking on his office door. Bellatrix came walking in looking drawn and tired, but she forced a little smile as he gestured to the chair opposite him. He gave her a rather pleasant look by his own standards, but he could sense sadness and anger radiating off of Bellatrix in waves. Voldemort frowned deeply when he saw the fingerprint-shaped bruises along the sides of her neck. He cleared his throat roughly and said,

"I've called you here on business."

She nodded wordlessly, and Voldemort scowled more deeply than ever. He pushed the file folder toward her, and Bellatrix silently picked it up and opened it. Voldemort watched her eyes, usually brilliant but dull today, as they scanned over the papers inside.

"Willow Freightman," Bellatrix finally said in a soft voice. She nodded. "She'll do perfectly, Master. Lives alone in a little cottage in Yorkshire, long-time employee in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. The widow of a Muggle, the mother of a grown Half-Blood who married a Mudblood. She's an ideal target. She'll go quickly, smoothly. Without a trace. When?"

She was so matter-of-fact, just like always, but as Bellatrix raised her face to Voldemort, he made a little observation.

"You've been crying."

Bellatrix sniffed a little and shrugged. "Willow Freightman. When shall I eliminate her for you, Master?"

He licked his bottom lip and said, "Not for a few weeks. Malfoy really did make quite an error in casting the Dark Mark. The  _Prophet_  has been trying to solidify public opinion against us. We've finally got the associate editor Imperiused, but we need a little more down time before anything that people will suspect has been done by us. I'll notify you as soon as it's time. You should have all the information you'll need so you can move quickly and effectively."

Bellatrix nodded and held up the file. "May I keep this, My Lord?"

"Yes." Voldemort folded his hands on his desk, feeling his irritation well up beyond his ability to control it anymore. He stared again at Bellatrix's neck and demanded, "Where did those bruises come from?"

Bellatrix touched her knuckles to her neck and said in a self-conscious mumble, "I used Butterfly Weed Balm; I hadn't thought they'd still be visible."

"Oh, I can see them just fine," Voldemort snapped quietly. He narrowed his eyes. "What happened?"

Bellatrix sighed and lowered her eyes, dragging her fingernails over the file in her lap. "Rodolphus and I… it's so childish. We were duelling."

"Duelling," Voldemort repeated, his stomach churning for some reason. "I assume you were not engaged in a friendly practise session?"

"No, Master," Bellatrix admitted, keeping her eyes down. "We were arguing."

Her breath shook a little then, and Voldemort waited for her to make eye contact, her gaze glazed and sorrowful, and he thought,  _Legilimens._

' _You're fucking him and you begrudge me one night spent in the company of another witch?' Rodolphus demanded, flying up from his armchair. Bellatrix crossed her arms._

' _No, I don't blame you, Dolph; I just want to ensure you're being careful, because he -'_

' _You hypocritical whore.' Suddenly Rodolphus sent a ball of white light hurtling from his wand toward Bellatrix. She cast a rapid, nonverbal Shield Charm and scowled. When Rodolphus opened her mouth again, she Silenced him, but it wore off quickly, and he used his wand to send a nearby lamp sailing across the room. Bellatrix swatted it out of its line of fire, but it crashed against the wall, and she mumbled,_

' _Reparo.'_

_The lamp mended itself and lay on the ground, and Bellatrix stalked toward Rodolphus._

' _Keep your little girlfriend,' she hissed. 'I'm sure she'll bring you great pleasure and joy.'_

' _I hope she does,' Rodolphus nodded, 'and I don't have to share her.'_

_Bellatrix scoffed. 'You're swimming in dangerous waters, Dolph. If he sees in my mind that you've said these things, you could -'_

' _Perhaps if you didn't open your mind and your legs so willingly to him,' Rodolphus spat back, 'none of this would be a problem.'_

_Bellatrix lost her temper then. She aimed her wand at the window and yelled, 'Confringo'_

_The window exploded in a fiery blast, and Rodolphus laughed at her._

' _Truth hurts, doesn't it?'_

' _I'm going to my mother's house,' Bellatrix sneered, and she started to walk away. But Rodolphus snatched at her right elbow, forcing her round. Bellatrix slapped him as hard as she could, and his face immediately twisted._

' _Expelliarmus,' he growled, and before Bellatrix could do anything, he'd caught her wand in his hand. He tossed both their wands onto the armchair, and suddenly he had his hands at Bellatrix's neck._

' _You said you loved me,' Rodolphus said, sounding halfway between tears and murder. He backed Bellatrix up toward the wall, even as she felt her breath catch hard in her throat. She scrambled to pull his hands away, but Rodolphus was much stronger. He shoved her hard against the wall and squeezed so ferociously that Bellatrix saw spots._

' _Please,' she choked. 'Dolph…'_

' _Don't,' he whispered, lowering his face near hers. Bellatrix couldn't see or think clearly anymore; everything was dark and hazy. But she heard Rodolphus say in a cracked, broken murmur, 'You were mine. You were mine, Bella.'_

Voldemort pulled himself out of Bellatrix's mind. She was not crying where she sat opposite him in his office. She just looked blank and empty. She touched again at her neck, and Voldemort said stiffly,

"I think I ought to kill him now."

Bellatrix shook her head a little, and Voldemort almost rolled his eyes as he snapped,

"You think that boy deserves mercy? After doing that to you?"

"No, My Lord. I think you'll regret losing yourself an able soldier," Bellatrix said. She stared down at her lap again, at the file on the witch she'd kill on Voldemort's command, and she said, "Obliviate Rodolphus. Make him forget that he and I were ever in love. Ours was an arranged marriage, he'll think. Amiable but distant, utterly sexless, each of us allowed our own individual paramours. He'll stay loyal to your cause and polite to me in public. He'll find refuge in Edwina Fawley, who will undoubtedly be glad for his attentions. And he will no longer feel possessive of me, or jealous toward you. He will be my husband in name and your steadfast soldier."

There was a long, heavy silence then as Voldemort contemplated just what sort of ice went through Bellatrix's veins. He tried to keep his voice somewhere near kind as he reminded her,

"You love him. You've kept insisting that to me for some time."

"I have fallen steadily out of love with him, Master, every day since I danced with you at the Malfoy Christmas party." Bellatrix raised her eyes then, and they were cold and sharp now. She shrugged. "I feel nothing toward him anymore. No animosity. No desire. Nothing. But you'll want him in battle, I think."

Voldemort was slightly overwhelmed by her then, and he found himself struggling to speak. Finally he said,

"You are a very good girl, Bellatrix. Go upstairs and wait for me in my suite."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix rose, taking the file with her, and walked out of his office without another word. Voldemort pulled back his left sleeve and touched his wand to his Dark Mark, Summoning Rodolphus Lestrange.

* * *

"It's done," Voldemort said as he stalked into the parlour of his suite. Bellatrix rose from where she'd been anxiously sitting, and she nodded. Voldemort stepped nearer to her and continued, "He is very convinced that you are an admirable and powerful witch, and he thinks fondly of you, but he thinks far more fondly of Edwina Fawley. He feels no bitterness toward you. No jealousy. Your marriage will be comfortable, if distant."

Bellatrix's eyes seared all of a sudden. It felt a little like Rodolphus had died, like Voldemort had executed him through Obliviation. She had a sudden swirl of images in her mind - Rodolphus flirting with her in fourth-year Potions, putting a ring on her finger and begging her to marry him, telling her he'd love her until the day he died. Bellatrix was breathless then, but she whispered,

"Thank you, My Lord. For your… wisdom. I am grateful."

He seemed a little conflicted then. He cleared his throat softly and jerked his chin toward his bedroom.

"In my wardrobe, you'll find a few long black tunics. Comfortable cotton. Put one on and get into the bed. I'll bring you something to… blank all this out for a little while."

Bellatrix nodded numbly. She walked into his bedroom and opened his wardrobe with shaking hands, realising that all of these clothes were  _his_. She brushed her fingers over velvet outer robes and linen shirts, and then she found a soft cotton tunic like he'd described. She took it out and shut the wardrobe, and then she started to strip off her own leggings and knee-length black dress. She folded them and put on the tunic, climbing into the bed where he'd plundered her roughly from behind days earlier, where she'd slept with him. She'd awakened curled up in his arms. That had been nice.

"Here," she heard him say, and when she looked up, Voldemort was beside the bed, holding out a little blue glass vial. "Draught of Peace."

She nodded, grateful for his judgment. She didn't just want to be knocked unconscious by Dreamless Sleep, nor made silly by Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Drunkenness by alcohol was unlikely to make her feel better. But this - Draught of Peace - would erase her agitated, anxious sorrow and put her mind at a bleary ease. At low doses, it merely calmed a subject, but Bellatrix drank enough of the stuff to know it would hit her like a drug. She handed the vial back to Voldemort and slowly lowered herself to her back, staring up at the ceiling.

As the Draught of Peace began working, she was distantly aware of Voldemort standing before his own wardrobe, pulling off his clothing one piece at a time and replacing it with dark grey flannel pyjamas. She felt no lust, not tonight, and she knew he wouldn't force her into anything. They were silent as the potion sank into Bellatrix's veins. Gradually, her mournful mood dissolved, giving way to an easy, restful sort of feeling. Her limbs were a bit heavy now, and when she tried to sit up, she felt a little intoxicated. She lay back down, and after a few seconds or an hour - she couldn't be sure which - she slowly raised her eyes to see Voldemort sitting beside her in the bed.

He was stroking her curls with his fingertips, looking as though he were concentrating on something, and she asked him in a groggy voice,

"What are you thinking about?"

_My Lord. Master._  She'd forgotten to tag one of those onto the end of her question. He didn't seem to mind as he murmured,

"You're so very young. The last time I was actually involved with anyone as young as you, I was young myself. That was a very long time ago."

"Were in you in love then?" Bellatrix heard herself ask, and Voldemort shook his head.

"No," he said simply. "Never. You look young, but you do not act very young. Not when you're in battle, or slaying my enemies in secret. Not when you make decisions that are difficult but very intelligent."

Bellatrix let her eyes shut, absorbing the feel of his hand on her hair. She lost track of time again, gone to the sensation of floating somewhere above and beyond his bedroom. Finally she felt her own hand drifting up his thigh, and he let out a low hiss as she fondled his enormous, flaccid cock through his pyjama trousers.

"Not now, Bella," he said rather sharply. "Not when you're like this."

She let her hand rest there, on the slowly hardening bulge in his pyjamas, but she stopped moving her hand. She eventually heard him ask,

"Does it hurt?"

"My neck? Not anymore," she assured him, and then he scoffed a little.

"My cock, I meant."

"Oh. It does hurt, just a little. It's worth it. I'm sorry I made such a fuss over it; it's only that I didn't know they existed in… in that size."

If he was laughing at her, mocking her, she couldn't tell. She snuggled against his hip and started to drift her fingers over him again, feeling the monstrous thickness taking form beneath her hand.

"Bella…" His voice didn't sound quite as sure now. He squirmed a little and told her, "I'll find a workaround. So it doesn't hurt."

"No." She blinked her eyes open, reading surprise on his face. "I like it. I like the pain. It's just enough. Not too much. It's perfect."

"Oh, Bella." He shut his eyes and reached for her hand, pulling it away from his body. Then he lay down and rotated them until he was lying behind her, and after awhile, the hardness at the small of her back began to soften. He was stroking her hair again, and then his lips brushed under her ear, and he whispered, "Good girl. Such a good, good girl, and now you are all mine."

Bellatrix smiled then, unable to help herself, as she drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note: Tomorrow is Thanksgiving here in the U.S., and the day after that, I'm seeing the Chicago Symphony Orchestra play the soundtrack along with a showing of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (woo hoo!). My 30th (eeeeek!) birthday is Monday. So, it's definitely a busy few days for me! BUT! I promise I will update whenever I am able. Your patience is greatly appreciated. A very happy Thanksgiving to those celebrating. Please do leave a review if you get a quick moment, and thanks so much for all feedback so far.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Just a mini lemon of pure, brief smut. Happy Thanksgiving. :}**

When Lord Voldemort blinked his eyes open, things were… odd.

He was not exactly accustomed to awakening beside another person. He was especially not accustomed to having another person tangled with him, her legs scissored between his and her arm cast haphazardly around his chest. He was not even slightly accustomed to the way he  _liked_  it all, to the way it was vaguely soothing and certainly comfortable to be snarled up with her like this.

Bellatrix. His Bellatrix, now that Rodolphus Lestrange was out of the way. The boy was probably in bed with Edwina Fawley right now, which made Voldemort smirk a little. He breathed in deeply, the warm scent of cinnamon and vanilla washing off of Bellatrix as he did. He flicked his eyes across the moonlit bedroom to the clock on the wall. Half past two. He'd woken in the middle of the night. He shut his eyes and tried to sleep, but after a few moments, the feel of Bellatrix against him was a bit much. He felt blood flushing between his legs, and he squirmed a bit as he started to go hard.

"Mmph," he heard Bellatrix mutter against his flannel pyjama shirt. Would her Draught of Peace have worn off by now, he wondered? Probably. When she woke, she'd be upset about Rodolphus again. Voldemort huffed a little sigh and willed himself soft again, but it didn't work. All he could think about was that she was his now, that he'd taken possession of her from her husband through Obliviation.

Only, Bellatrix couldn't be possessed by anyone. Not really. She could throw herself at Voldemort's feet and swear herself to him, die for him, but she was too wild to be contained or owned or anything else.

And that thought made Voldemort harder than ever.

"My Lord?"

Her voice was quiet, gravelly, deep. Voldemort shut his eyes again and murmured,

"I'm sorry for waking you. Let's go back to sleep, eh?"

Her fingers found his growing firmness, and he heard her suck in breath hard. Voldemort tried to make himself pull her hand away, tried to tell her it was the middle of the night and she should sleep, but instead he just choked out,

"Bellatrix…"

She pulled his flannel trousers down a little and extracted him, using both her hands to caress him as he pulled back the blankets. He tried to tell himself that she wouldn't want him right now, that she would still be mourning the love she'd borne Rodolphus. Instead he mumbled,

"Climb atop me, Bella."

She was slithering out of her knickers then, pulling herself up to kneel beside her lord and master. He stared up at her in the darkness, reaching beneath the hem of his tunic she had on. His fingertips touched between her legs, and her lips fell open a little. She was still mostly dry, but as soon as Voldemort's fingers started to move, he felt a rush of damp heat. Bellatrix raked her insane ringlets away from her eyes and tipped her head back a little, pushing her hips down against Voldemort's hand.

His breath quickened alongside his heart, and he turned his gaze to his own cock. It was large enough that it often took a while to get truly rigid, but tonight it was aching. He could feel the throb from the inside out, could see the way his tip had gone purple with want. He gulped hard and said again,

"I want you atop me, Bellatrix."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, and she carefully arranged herself with a leg on either side of him. Her thighs trembled visibly as she lined his tip up with her entrance, and she shut her eyes as her anxious breath quaked. She started to sink down but stopped, reaching frantically for Voldemort's hands. He held her, squeezing at her fingers, knowing it was stretching and pulling at her just to take his tip. He reminded her,

"I can take the pain away."

"No." She shook her head firmly, and when she opened her eyes, they were dark and sharp and cold like they'd been once she'd made up her mind about Rodolphus. Suddenly she forced her body down, gasping and making a little gagged noise of effort as she pushed herself past his tip.

Tight. Warm and snug around him. Beautiful. Voldemort was almost overcome, and he found himself fondling her chest and her waist through his cotton tunic. Her hands splayed against his chest, her fingers cinching as she sank down further. She rose up an inch or two and then pushed deeper than ever, but then she stopped and shook her head as she admitted in a desperate voice,

"I c-can't…"

Voldemort seized her waist and moved them, staying inside of her as he rolled them until she was on her back.

"Knees up," he commanded, but even after she tucked them toward her chest, Voldemort knew he needed a steeper angle. He shoved his pyjamas down further and took Bellatrix's calves in his hands. He squeezed her legs tightly and pushed them toward her head, knowing she was young and flexible. She gasped when he shoved himself into her, and when he started to pulse his hips, his cock entered her far more deeply than her body would have allowed on its own.

"Oh… oh, My Lord…" She fisted her hands against her shut eyes and cried out loudly. Someone might hear. Voldemort didn't care. He tried to keep his motions slow, careful, gentle, but he couldn't. He found himself trying desperately to bury himself to the hilt, knowing her body wouldn't be able to take all of him and fighting for it anyway. He burrowed himself roughly against her and then kept pushing, and Bellatrix shrieked wildly. He bent to kiss her, silencing her cry with a mouth he knew tasted of sleep. She moaned against him, her voice turning into a frenzied squeal as Voldemort moved again.

He lost himself before he knew what was happening. She hadn't come yet, and he'd barely felt the way his pleasure had tightened and coiled. But he found himself snapping, spilling himself as he kissed her, and as he yanked his mouth away, he whispered,

"Sorry. It… I…"

"Mmph!" Bellatrix arched her back up, and Voldemort realised she liked the feel of his hips against her nub. He was starting to soften, his seed leaking out of her onto the sheets, but he ground himself back and forth, over and over again as he stroked her hair and touched his lips to her cheek.

"Come for me. Bella, come for me."

"Yes," she whispered, and he knew from the heat on her skin beneath his lips that she'd flushed through and was close. She held onto his shoulders and whispered again, "Yes, Master."

"Oh. Good girl." He stilled his hips as he felt her clenching around his softened, thick shaft. He pulled himself out of her body as the last remnants of her climax washed over her. Suddenly, for some reason, Voldemort pushed into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency, feeling compelled to do so.

_Throbbing burgundy satisfaction. Little quivers of remaining arousal. Want. Need. Happiness. His, his, his. Rodolphus gone, all his, only his. Desire and gratification all at once. It would never be enough, it would never be too much. Serving him, adoring him, sleeping beside him. His, all his now._

Voldemort extracted himself from the tangle of Bellatrix's chaotic mind, and he pushed himself up to hover above her. He smiled just a little and nodded down at her, nestling his fingers in her curls as he murmured,

"Yes. Mine. My good girl. Now, Bella… let's at least sleep until the sun comes up again."


	11. Chapter 11

Lord Voldemort held up a copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  and showed it to the assembled group before him.

"Yesterday's headline," he said, a little smile dancing on his lips. " _FLOREAN FORTESCUE - PORTRAIT OF THE ICE CREAM KING."_

Bellatrix joined the other Death Eaters in chuckling at the Dark Lord's words. He happily set down the newspaper and picked up a different one.

"Today's headline," he said, pausing for a dramatic moment and cocking up an eyebrow. " _BELOVED MINISTRY EMPLOYEE MISSING - THE WORST IS FEARED FOR WILLOW FREIGHTMAN_."

Everyone smiled more broadly than ever, and Voldemort tipped his head as he turned his face to Bellatrix.

"Bella," he said, his voice silk in the air, making her shiver. "Do tell."

Bellatrix tipped her chin up a little and nodded. "Yes, My Lord. I went to Yorkshire in the middle of the night and snuck silently into the witch's cottage. I managed to ambush her whilst she was still asleep. I killed her in her bed and Vanished the corpse. I left her front door ajar; I think her cat escaped."

A little rumble of laughter went around the table, and Voldemort seemed very pleased as he said quietly,

"That was very well done, Bellatrix. Very well done, indeed. And you shall be rewarded."

Her lips parted little then. She knew what he meant, even if the others didn't. She'd be given kisses; she'd be touched and more to reward her for her service. Voldemort stared hard at her for a moment, and Bellatrix was distantly aware of the way the others were observing the silent exchange. Finally Voldemort snapped his face to the rest of the table, and he noted,

"Enid Nott has passed away from dragon pox. Mulciber, she was your mother-in-law. Nott, she was your aunt. You both have my condolences. I would like everyone here to be at the funeral tomorrow. Am I understood?"

There were murmurs of  _yes, My Lord_ around the table. Voldemort dismissed everyone, and just before he left the room, Rodolphus gave Bellatrix a small smile and a wave. Her stomach pulled a little. These last three weeks, Rodolphus had spent half his nights in a separate bedroom at Castle Lestrange and half his nights at Edwina Fawley's flat in London. But he was friendly toward Bellatrix, and she would never complain aloud about the workaround she and the Dark Lord had agreed upon.

She lingered in the meeting room without permission. Once everyone had gone, she drummed her fingers on the table and asked simply,

"Have I made you proud, My Lord?"

He nodded. "Oh, yes, Bellatrix. I am very proud. That witch disappeared into thin air. They've no proof it was us. They may all think it was, know it was, but you've injected fresh fear into them. You have served me perfectly. And I meant what I said about a reward."

She smiled a little, but she was surprised to see him reach into his outer robe and pull something out from a pocket inside. It was silver and glinting, and when he held his fingers up, a little pendant fell from a silver chain. It was a round emerald surrounded by little shimmering diamonds, and Bellatrix gasped. Voldemort rose slowly and said,

"A token of appreciation… from your master."

She panted a little as he stood behind her, pulled her curls over one shoulder, and fastened the clasp of the necklace. She was dizzy as she touched at the pendant and whispered,

"I'm not worthy of it."

"I have decided that you are," he said rather firmly. "Stand up, Bella."

She did, so quickly that her head spun. She turned to face him, and he planted a little kiss on her cheekbone as he said,

"That was very good work in Yorkshire, Bellatrix. What a very fine soldier you are. I shall see you at the funeral tomorrow."

* * *

"Will you be staying with Edwina tonight?" Bellatrix asked Rodolphus as they walked up to the modestly outfitted but large country home of the Nott family. He flashed her an apologetic look, but Bellatrix waved him off. "Enid Nott was her maternal grandmother; I'm sure Edwina's devastated. Perhaps you ought to stay with her for a few days, Dolph. Have the House Elves pack you some luggage so you're comfortable."

He smiled just a little and reached to brush his knuckles over her cheek. "You're one of the good ones, Bella."

That made her heart hurt just a little, for she remembered when he'd stroked her cheek in bed and told her that he loved her with all that he was. But Bellatrix shook off her emotion and insisted,

"Oh, no. I'm no good. Let's go in, shall we?"

They hadn't attended the graveside ceremony, owing to them not being close family, so they arrived at a somber reception. There were buffet tables of dour sorts of foods - miniature meat pies and raw vegetables and plain bread rolls - and a table of glasses that filled themselves with blood red wine. She and Rodolphus mingled with Bellatrix's parents for a few minutes of dull conversation, and then the Dark Lord stepped up to the front of the ballroom. Everyone went hush, and Voldemort waited for silence before he said,

"Enid Nott spent decades committed to the purity of her family's blood. She was a loving wife, a devoted mother and grandmother, an intelligent and skilled witch, and a testament to what we all ought to aspire for in our own lives. May Enid Nott find respite in whatever comes after this world. She will be dearly remembered here. To Madam Nott."

"To Madam Nott!" Those assembled raised their glasses and then drank, and Voldemort was quickly approached by some of the Nott family as the low buzz of conversation took over the room again. Bellatrix's parents drifted off to talk with the Averys, and Rodolphus asked quietly,

"Mind if I go see to her?"

To Edwina, he meant. They hadn't been together long, but they'd latched onto one another tightly. Bellatrix glanced over to see lithe, blonde, pretty Edwina looking tear-streaked in a corner, staring straight at Rodolphus. Bellatrix reached for Rodolphus' fingers and squeezed a little, and she promised him,

"I shall have some luggage sent to her flat for you."

Rodolphus gave Bellatrix a very serious look then, and there was a small flash in his eyes. Suddenly Bellatrix panicked, thinking perhaps he was going to wind up falling in love with her all over again, but he purred,

"You're a very good wife, Bella."

Then he walked away.

Bellatrix could feel Voldemort before she ever heard his voice. As he stepped up beside her, he murmured,

"Yes, everyone knows about them. Nobody really much cares; a few feel sorry for you."

"If they knew my truth, they would not feel sorry for me." Bellatrix turned to face him and sipped from her wine. She gazed up at him and watched his eyes flick to the modest V neck of her black velvet dress. She'd worn the pendant he'd given her the day before, and he stared for just a moment before he looked into his wine glass and assured Bellatrix in a murmur,

"You made the right decision. Keeping him in my service whilst eliminating the threat of his jealousy."

Bellatrix just nodded silently, unable to acknowledge to herself or to Lord Voldemort just how wounded she felt by the absence of her husband's love. Rodolphus had laughed with her, kissed her, caressed her. He had taken her virginity; he'd whispered into her ear that she was beautiful the night they'd married one another.

"Bella."

She looked up, realising her mind had drifted a little. Voldemort seemed thoughtful then, and he mused,

"No dancing today."

She smirked a little and shook her head. "No, I don't suppose there will be much dancing at a funeral, Master."

"Usually, when you and I are in social situations," he noted quietly, "we dance."

"But not today," she repeated, sipping from her wine again. Voldemort's face went very serious then, and he looked around furtively as if ensuring that nobody was listening to them. He cleared his throat and drained his wine glass, seeming to siphon courage from the drink, and he stared at the red smear of wine on the inside of the crystal for a moment. Then he said very gently,

"I am going to say something now, because I can quickly and easily walk away from you once I've said it."

Bellatrix frowned deeply, a spike of fear going up her spine. Was he about to command her to leave him be? Was he about to break off everything she'd built up with him? He shut his eyes for a moment and then raised a hard, dark gaze to Bellatrix.

"I am…" His throat bobbed beneath the collar of his black robes. "I am  _exceptionally_ fond of you, Bellatrix."

She almost dropped her wine then. She came so close that he sensed it about to happen, and his fingers went around hers for a moment on the glass before releasing her. He stared down at her, his eyes boring into hers like they'd first done at the Malfoy Christmas party. Bellatrix finally found the breath to whisper,

"Well. I am exceptionally fond of you, too, Master."

"It is unlike anything I have ever experienced," he continued crisply. "I am still not entirely sure what to make of it; I did not actually realise the possibility of this level of… of… fondness."

Bellatrix could hardly breathe then. Her dress felt tight all of a sudden; the room had gone very warm. She glanced over to Rodolphus and realised she no longer cared where he slept or who he kissed or loved. She turned her eyes up to her lord and master, to the most powerful wizard who had ever lived, and she assured him in an honest, soft tone,

"You are… everything. Everything, My Lord."

He blinked quickly a few times and licked his bottom lip as he told her, "It has been eight days since you spent the night in my suite at Malfoy Manor. I should like for you to stay tonight. I desire you near me, Bella, as often as possible."

His wine glass was slowly refilling itself, and he sipped again from it as Bellatrix nodded her assent. Then he told her in a stiff, formal voice,

"The necklace looks good; I knew it would suit you. You'll have many more gifts from me, because you deserve them and because I like to give you things, and because… because I am exceptionally fond of you. I'm going to talk finances with your father now. Goodbye, Bella."

He turned and walked quickly away without another word, leaving her standing there grinning at a funeral.

**Author's Note: I wanted to get one more quick chapter in tonight! Hope everyone who celebrated Thanksgiving had a happy holiday with friends/family and a very delicious meal! I'm at a concert tomorrow, but I'll try and squeeze in one chapter if I get the chance. Please, if you can spare a quick moment to leave a little bit of feedback, I'd be enormously grateful. Thank you for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

Bellatrix paused with Rodolphus' blue flannel pyjamas in her hands.

She shouldn't have cared. She had the Dark Lord now. Lord Voldemort had carefully wiped Rodolphus' mind of the passion he'd had with Bellatrix. She was packing up a leather suitcase for him, which would be sent over to Edwina Fawley's flat. Tonight, Rodolphus would hold Edwina in his arms to comfort her. Bellatrix would go back to the Dark Lord's suite at Malfoy Manor, where he would undoubtedly hold her. So she shouldn't have cared.

But these were the pyjamas Rodolphus had worn on their wedding night, so she cared.

Bellatrix brought the flannel to her face and breathed in. They were freshly laundered, but she could still sense him on the pyjamas. She shut her eyes and remembered him, nervous as a lamb going to the slaughter. His lips had shaken against hers as he'd murmured, " _I'm sorry if it's terrible._ " It hadn't been terrible, of course. He'd been warm and kind to her, and they'd fallen asleep together, blissful and exhausted.

Bellatrix dragged her finger over the pearlescent button on the front of the pyjamas, remembering the way her own hands had shaken as she'd stripped it off him that night. Children, they'd been, though it hadn't been so very long ago. They'd had breakfast together the next morning - oatmeal and cantaloupe and scalding hot tea. Rodolphus had given Bellatrix a little bleary-eyed smile that had told her everything, but still he'd assured her, " _I love you more than anything, Bella._ "

She shoved the pyjamas into the leather suitcase, trying and failing to will away the tears in her eyes. She shouldn't care. He was gone from her, that silly boy. He'd damned himself when he'd strangled Bellatrix in a fit of jealous rage. He was lucky he wasn't dead, that Bellatrix had convinced Voldemort that Rodolphus had value as a mind-wiped soldier.

Bellatrix went into Rodolphus' bathroom and took out a little leather bag from his vanity drawer. She filled it with his wooden toothbrush and jar of paste, his tortoiseshell comb and his heavy steel razor. He could do most of it with magic, of course, but Rodolphus liked the ritual of combing and cleaning and shaving. So Bellatrix put the toiletries into the suitcase along with the pyjamas and underwear and two changes of clothes. She latched the suitcase shut and wrapped her fingers round its handle, and as she strode out of Rodolphus' rooms, she barked,

"Coopy!"

The House-Elf appeared out of thin air with a crack. He was young for a House-Elf, still bright-eyed and overeager. Bellatrix shoved the suitcase at Coopy, nearly knocking him over, and she snapped,

"Have this sent to the flat of Edwina Fawley. It's for Master Dolph."

Coopy grinned. "Yes, Madam Bellatrix. Yes, yes. Coopy will sent it straight away! Master Dolph won't have to wait any-"

"Go." Bellatrix put her hands on her hips. She stomped away from the House-Elf and went into her own rooms, quickly tossing a short, tight black nightgown and a fresh change of clothes into her own suitcase. She Summoned her own travel bag of toiletries that she kept ready for overnight missions, and she Disapparated straight out of her own rooms.

As she strolled up toward Malfoy Manor, clutching her suitcase in her hands and staring at the impressive house, her boots came to a stop. The spring night was unseasonably pleasant and still, and for a long moment, Bellatrix just stood. Suddenly a memory rushed straight back to her, playing behind the eyelids that fluttered shut.

' _They withered?' Rodolphus seemed heartbroken. Bellatrix giggled a little as she looked down at the wad of ruined roses in her fist._

' _It doesn't matter,' she said, far more kindly than usual. 'It's the thought that counts.'_

' _Yes, well. Apparently the spell needs some work.' Rodolphus reached to take the stems away from Bellatrix, but she yanked them back and shook her head._

' _You didn't fail, Dolph. You made me smile. No easy feat.' She stepped closer to him, and he cupped her face in his hand and leaned down to kiss her carefully. Then he whispered,_

' _You're one of the good ones, Bella.'_

Bellatrix blinked through the blur of tears as she forced herself up to the manor. She pulled the heavy door open and plodded up the main stairwell, then the winding stairs that led up to the level where the Dark Lord's suite was.

One of the good ones.

Rodolphus had said it a few times, most recently at the funeral. But he didn't love her anymore. He never would again. He probably had his suitcase now. Bellatrix hoped she'd packed everything he'd need. He'd never quite gotten the hang of Conjuring, but perhaps he could borrow something from Edwina if he needed it.

Bellatrix cleared her throat and reached up to knock on her master's door, shifting on her feet as a portrait behind her made a little yelp of alarm. Bellatrix turned round to see a plump, middle-aged witch go dashing out from her frame. Gossip among the paintings, Bellatrix thought, frowning deeply.

"Bella?"

She turned round again to find that the door to the suite had opened. At first, Lord Voldemort was smiling just a little, standing there in black pyjamas covered by an emerald green velvet robe. But then his smile disappeared, and he cleared his throat as he said almost gently, "Come inside."

She followed him into the parlour and set her suitcase down on the ground as Voldemort shut the door. He scowled at her then and demanded,

"What's happened?"

Bellatrix shook her head quickly, very cross with her own inability to keep tears from welling up in her eyes yet again.  _Stop crying, you fragile little fool,_  she scolded herself, but the tears came anyone.

"What's the matter?" Voldemort snapped, using his knuckle to drag her chin up. He narrowed his eyes and hissed, " _Legilimens._ "

_Bellatrix breathed in from the flannel of Rodolphus' pyjamas, remembering their wedding night… she stood in front of Malfoy Manor remembering the way he'd Conjured her roses when they'd been younger and newly in love… so in love._

Voldemort scoffed and let out a low little laugh as he pulled himself from Bellatrix's mind. She furrowed her brows up at him and shook her head slowly.

"Is it funny?"

She was being disrespectful, she knew, but just now she couldn't care. Voldemort licked his bottom lip and insisted,

"You never loved him. You couldn't possibly have done."

"Why not?" Bellatrix was insubordinate now, but still she left off his honorifics. Voldemort threw up his eyebrow and said,

"Because he was never anything more than a silly little boy."

Bellatrix threw her hands up. "That silly little boy took me for walks along the shore of the Black Lake. He came to visit me at my parents' house over summer holidays and endured the glare of my father, just so he could kiss me in the front hall. He put a ring on my finger and told me he could only be happy if I was his."

"Well, you're not his; you're mine," Voldemort snarled. "And, anyway, he nearly strangled you. He's a volatile child."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and took a trembling breath. She tried to imagine what Rodolphus was doing right now. Perhaps he was in the middle of kissing pretty, blonde Edwina. Perhaps she was pressed against a wall, Rodolphus' hands all over her.

"Bellatrix."

She felt Voldemort's hands take her face, felt his lips press to hers, and she breathed in the warm, earthy, masculine aroma that he exuded.

Bellatrix remembered the way Rodolphus had thrown a lamp at her, the way he'd gripped her neck so tightly in his hands that she had seen spots and her ears had rung. She remembered one time when Rodolphus had had too much to drink with his brother and had gotten handsy with a Malfoy girl at a Slytherin party. She remembered the way he'd picked at ear wax with his pinky finger, which had always disgusted Bellatrix and had driven her mad. She thought of the times he'd just plain annoyed her. She knew he was probably naked with Edwina Fawley right this moment.

"I want you," she heard Voldemort's voice say quietly beside her, his voice silk as her breath slowed. "I need you, Bellatrix; I need you to be mine."

Bellatrix opened her eyes and waited for him to pull back, and she nodded once.

"I am yours, Master."

Half his mouth turned up, and he reached around her back to pull down the zip of her black dress. He pulled it off her front, and suddenly Bellatrix was rather proud of her young, pert breasts in the thin white silk bra she wore. She thrust her chest out a little stepped away from her dress, and Voldemort cupped one breast in his hand, brushing a thumb over the nipple that had hardened through the silk.

"Do you know," he began quietly, "that at that party - the Malfoy Christmas party - I lost myself in your eyes when we danced. And I never found myself again; I've been lost in you since then."

"My Lord…" Bellatrix shut her eyes and pushed at his velvet robe until he released her and it fell heavily to the ground. Everything moved quickly then. Her bra and knickers came off, his pyjamas were removed. He urged her into the bedroom, and as they slithered up and back on the bed, the only thought Bellatrix had about Rodolphus was how very  _gone_  he was from her, and how very gone she was from him.

"This hair," Voldemort was saying, snaring his fingers into Bellatrix's wild, kinky ringlets. "How adore this blasted hair."

He kissed her hard, his lips trailing down her neck and dusting over the swell of her breast. He raised his eyes to her then, meeting them for such a long moment that Bellatrix fell into a little trance. She just stared, and he stared back, and the room around them seemed to dissolve away. He kept staring at her as he parted her knees, and then he whispered,

"I am utterly smitten by you. I can't fully explain why. I don't care why. I enjoy you in many ways."

He touched his tip to her, and Bellatrix wrenched her eyes shut against the now-familiar stretch and ache of his monstrous cock invading her. She sucked in air hard as he pushed in a few inches, and as he began to rock against her, she heard him insist,

"Breathe, Bella. Breathe."

She did, the air rickety as it trembled back and forth over her lips. She opened her eyes and found his again, and then they just stared as he moved. Finally, his hips stilled, though neither of them were anywhere near climax, and Voldemort said very firmly indeed,

"Everything that came before is irrelevant. For me, Bellatrix, there is only you. For you… there is only me. Do you understand me?"

Bellatrix nodded, and this time there were no tears at all. "Yes, Master. I understand."

**Author's Note: Sorry for the break in writing! This holiday/concert/birthday weekend is kind of nuts for me**   **! I appreciate your patience. In the next chapter, we're definitely going to see some good old fashioned Death Eater mischief, so brace yourselves. :}**


	13. Chapter 13

"Bella." Lord Voldemort let his voice hum to her, the purr of a lover down the table in the meeting room. He tipped his head as all eyes turned to her, and he prompted her, "Tell us all where you've just come from."

"From Glasgow, Master," Bellatrix said proudly. "From the home of Rory Sherwood."

"Augustus Rookwood. You have infiltrated the Ministry more thoroughly than any of my other followers," Voldemort noted, and Rookwood bowed his head. "Tell me, Rookwood… will Rory Sherwood be missed at the Ministry?"

"I do believe so, Master," Rookwood smirked, "Seeing as how he was the Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"Ironic," Voldemort said, flicking up a brow, "that the head of such a department should be struck down by a catastrophe of his own."

A low rumble of laughter went round the table. Voldemort noted and ignored the way that Rodolphus Lestrange seemed almost afraid of his wife, in awe of her and wide-eyed with something between terror and admiration. He cleared his throat and asked,

"Bellatrix, how many were in the house?"

"Sherwood was a master of procreation, My Lord," Bellatrix said rather snidely. "He was a Mudblood, married another Mudblood, and together they had seven children. Four of the children are at Hogwarts."

Voldemort nodded. "So you killed… five. Five for me tonight, of the filthiest blood, of high Ministry rank?"

"Five, Master," Bellatrix nodded proudly, and Voldemort sent his voice down to her like a snake slithering through the air.

"What a very good girl you are."

She looked almost orgasmic then, her eyes fluttering a little as she nodded her thanks. The meeting continued on, with Avery and Nott discussing the ways they had made contacts and secret allies at Gringotts. Once everyone was dismissed, Voldemort went to his office and sat in the heavy chair behind his desk. There was a knock on his door, but it wasn't Bella. He knew her knock now. This was Malfoy. He could feel it.

"Enter," Voldemort called firmly. The door opened, and Abraxas Malfoy came striding in. He bowed just a little and noted,

"My Lord, as you know, my nephew Maximus was in my custody after my brother… well…"

"Yes, I know." Voldemort pursed his lips. Abraxas Malfoy's elder brother had killed his wife in a fit of anger, and he was serving a life sentence in Azkaban for it. Maximus Malfoy had been ten years old at the time; he was twenty-five now. Abraxas was far more like a father than an uncle to Maximus, who lived in a stately townhouse of his own in London and served as a mediocre but loyal foot soldier for Voldemort.

"Maximus is getting married, sir." Malfoy said, extracting an envelope from his robes. He approached the desk and bowed a bit as he held it out. Voldemort cracked open the wax seal on the back and read over the invitation. He sighed a little; he disliked maudlin events like weddings, but they were important in cementing the community of his followers and to demonstrating that he would give attention and attendance in exchange for combat service.

"Antigone Crouch? Is she even out of school yet?" Voldemort frowned, and Malfoy looked surprised.

"She… she was in the same year as Madam Lestrange, My Lord. They were roommates in Slytherin, I believe. If they were friends, I do not know."

"Bella didn't really have many friends," Voldemort mumbled, and then immediately realised how ridiculous that had sounded. He cleared his throat roughly and stared at the invitation, and he asked tightly, "I assume the Lestranges have been invited?"

"Naturally, My Lord. Though, apparently Maximus and Antigone would prefer if Miss Edwina Fawley were not present."

Voldemort glared up at Malfoy. "I won't have discord within the Pureblood community. The rest of the wizarding world can be chaos, but we will stand united. If they've some personal issue with Edwina Fawley, they can sort it out after the wedding. She's a member of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. She will receive an invitation."

"Yes, Master." Malfoy lowered his head, and Voldemort peered inside with nonverbal Legilimency.

_Edwina at her grandmother's funeral with Rodolphus Lestrange touching at her arm just so. Bellatrix staring up at the Dark Lord as the two of them danced in Malfoy Manor._

"Do you fancy yourself an arbiter of marital disputes, Malfoy?" Voldemort snarled, and Malfoy shook his head quickly.

"N-no, My Lord; I just -"

"Either your nephew invites the entire Pureblood community, or the wedding is off. You've more than enough space and funds to host everyone here, so do it properly or don't do it at all." Voldemort Vanished the wedding invitation with nonverbal, wandless magic, and he watched Malfoy gulp as he said,

"I shall let them both know, My Lord, that petty personal squabbles have no place in our movement."

"See that you do," Voldemort nodded. "Get out of my office."

Malfoy backed away, stumbling and muttering platitudes and apologies. Almost immediately after he'd gone, there was another knock, and this time he knew it was her. He aimed his wand at the door and opened it for her, and Bellatrix practically bounded into the office.

"Oh, My Lord," she gasped, flattening herself back against the door and grinning like a madwoman. "It was so exhilarating in Glasgow. They didn't see me coming, not one bit, and I -"

"You'll be attending the wedding of Maximus Malfoy on my arm," Voldemort said, cutting her off. Bellatrix's grin faltered just a little, and she slowly walked into the office, laughing a bit and shrugging.

"But, My Lord, I still have to go with Dolph."

"No. No, you may do whatever I want you to do. I am Lord Voldemort, and I shall be taking you to this wedding. As for Rodolphus, he can take Edwina Fawley. I'll give him permission myself. I've already selected my date for the event."

Bellatrix seemed surprised, but she just nodded and asked quietly,

"Shall I leave my hair down?"

"Yes." Voldemort's throat thickened up, and he folded his hands tightly on his desk. Bellatrix took a few more steps toward him, and her voice was sly then.

"Shall I wear something backless so that you can feel my skin there when we dance?"

"Yes," he said again. "And we shall dance as many times as I want to dance."

She understood now. She understood that he was going to use this wedding to publicly claim her, to rip her out of Rodolphus' clutches. They might stay married in name, but Bellatrix would belong to the Dark Lord, and every single person at the wedding would know it.

She stepped closer to his desk, curling her thin fingers around the back of the chair there, and the held his gaze as she informed him,

"Glasgow went off without a single hitch, Master. It was quiet. Easy. And it was bliss, taking them out one by one. Doing it for you, in your name."

"Tomorrow the newspaper will have a headline of panic," Voldemort said, hardly able to summon anything above a whisper. "There will be horror and grief at the Ministry and Hogwarts. Gryffindors left without their parents and siblings. A department head gone. They'll know it was us, but they won't be able to prove anything, because you didn't leave a single trace, a single scrap for them to find, did you?"

"No," she said back, very confidently. "I left them nothing."

"And, therefore, you gave me everything," Voldemort said firmly. "Everything I needed of you. You are something of a treasure to me. Did you know?"

Bellatrix looked for a moment like she might faint. She smiled and tightened her hands on the chair, and she assured him,

"Every last thing I do until the moment I die will be for your glory, Master."

"I know." His heart pounded in his chest, and he struggled to work through his tight throat for air. He nodded wordlessly then, completely overcome by how strongly he felt just now. He'd never felt anything even remotely like this. He adored her beautiful shell, the lovely body that held in her wicked soul. He admired her Darkness, the way it went all the way to her core. Her abilities, her competence, her wry humour and her serious intelligence. There was so very much to want about her, so very much to enjoy.

"I… have quite a lot of work to do," Voldemort admitted, and Bellatrix nodded as she tapped the back of the chair.

"Then I shall leave you be. Goodnight, Master."

She turned and started to go, and Voldemort's body panicked. His heart sped up until he thought it would thump straight out of his chest and land on his desk.

"Bella."

She whirled round, and Voldemort flew up from his chair. He stalked like a wraith across his office and took Bellatrix's face firmly in his hands. He crushed her mouth with his and then let one hand slide around her and settle at the small of her back.

"My work won't take too long," he mumbled against her lips, "and I know you can be patient. Go upstairs and wait for me."

Bellatrix smirked and nodded, boldly dragging her fingernails over Voldemort's scalp and making his mouth fall open. She pushed up onto her tiptoes and kissed him carefully, and she whispered,

"Take all the time you need, Master. I'll wait patiently."

Then she pulled away and walked out of his office, leaving him half-hard and shaking a little where he stood on the rug.

* * *

"Hello."

"Hello, My Lord." Bellatrix looked him up and down where he stood in the threshold of his own suite. His tuxedo robes were so elegant that her stomach pulled a little, and she watched as his eyes coursed over her. She'd had a new gown made - perfectly soft black silk, long sleeved with a shallow, high neck. It moved easily over her curves, with a slit up the skirt that went all the way to her hip. The rear of the dress draped heavily, revealing the entirety of her back. She wore the emerald and diamond pendant that Voldemort had gifted her, and though she'd smoothed the frizz from her hair, she'd worn her curls down, cast over one shoulder with one side pulled back by a black metal clip in the shape of a serpent.

"You are…" Voldemort seemed almost nervous then, and finally he gathered his wits enough to say, "You look magnificent, Bellatrix."

"Thank you, Master. Shall we go downstairs? I think the ceremony will start soon enough." She smiled up at him, and he stepped into the corridor. He pulled his door shut and held his arm out a bit, and Bellatrix hesitated before lacing her hand up and around his forearm. She let her hand rest on his sleeve, and her eyes locked on his as he lowered and moved his arm a little. Suddenly her fingers caught his, and then she was holding his hand. She blinked, thinking that surely he wouldn't want to walk into Maximus' wedding like  _this_ , but Voldemort just led her toward the stairwell.

They stared. They all stared, from the first moment that Bellatrix and Voldemort stepped into the ballroom. A great hush took over as Voldemort was shown to a place of honour at the front of the assembled seats. He sat, pulling Bellatrix with him, and he kept his eyes trained forward.

Bellatrix was very aware of how many people were staring, the way so many were shocked and thrilled and horrified and everything in between. The Dark Lord had entered the wedding with his favourite soldier, who was lovely and young and very, very  _married._

But, then, Rodolphus was married, too, and in he sauntered with Edwina Fawley at his side. They weren't holding hands, which seemed intelligent, but they had obviously come together. They split off for a bit, Edwina going to a seat, and then Rodolphus actually walked right up to where Bellatrix sat. He bowed a bit and murmured,

"Good afternoon, My Lord." He turned his attention to Bellatrix and assured her, "You look stunning, Bella."

"So does Edwina," Bellatrix said a little blandly. She reached brazenly for Voldemort's knee, wondering if she'd be punished later for her insolence, and she smiled up at her husband. "Enjoy yourself, Dolph."

He blinked a few times and nodded. "And you. My Lord."

He bowed his head and walked away, and Voldemort wordlessly covered Bellatrix's hand on her knee. She expected him to pull it away, to pry her fingers off of him, but instead she heard him whisper a single word.

" _Mine._ "

Antigone Crouch had been in school with Bellatrix. She was a plain-faced girl with a perfectly normal body. Bland. Average. Her hair was the colour of dishwater, her eyes the sort of lifeless brown that could only be called 'boring.' She was dull in every way. Bellatrix had never made a friend nor an enemy of her; she'd never cared enough to do either. The girls had shared a dormitory for years, but that was the extent of their relationship. Still, Bellatrix curled her lips up a little at Antigone as the girl walked by on her father's arm. She had a boring gown on, a caped fluffy concoction that looked like every other wedding gown in the world.

Maximus Malfoy was handsome, but his troubled past limited his appeal in the Pureblood world. Antigone was a good match for him, Bellatrix thought. They'd make perfectly acceptable Pureblood children together. During the brief, boring ceremony, Bellatrix watched as the two of them vowed to be honest and loving with one another. She was taken back briefly to her own wedding, but as she glanced backward toward Rodolphus, she sensed little emotion from him.

"He doesn't remember it the same way you do," Voldemort whispered very quietly. When Bellatrix raised her eyes to him in desperation, he reached for her fingers and squeezed a little. She felt him push into her mind, and she shoved forth an idea, a thought, hoping he would sense it.

_The boy I fell in love with is gone. That marriage - the way it began and the way it was - is gone. There is only you, My Lord._

He shut his eyes, and Bellatrix knew he'd felt what she'd pushed to him. His throat bobbed and his hand tightened on hers.

Suddenly everyone was applauding, and Bellatrix snapped out of her trance to see Maximus and Antigone kissing. The ceremony was over. The House-Elves made quick work of the ballroom then, the chairs giving way to buffet tables that lined the space with hors d'oeuvres and cakes and many kinds of wine. As the bride and groom shared a dance, Voldemort murmured,

"Nott's itching to tell me something about Gringotts. If I don't go to him now, he may explode."

Bellatrix choked out a little laugh and nodded. She fetched herself a glass of red wine and drank it as Edwina Fawley glanced worriedly over toward her. Bellatrix flashed the empty-headed blonde girl a warm smile, the most genuine she could muster, and raised her glass in greeting. Edwina seemed relieved then. After a while, Voldemort came back, a glass of white wine in his own hand, and he said airily,

"He was just  _awfully_  proud of himself, that's all. Apparently that witch you disappeared from Yorkshire had quite a bit of money to her name."

"Willow Freightman?" Bellatrix felt her eyebrows fly up. "Wouldn't have pegged her for having much wealth."

Voldemort shrugged. "Yes, well, apparently everything from her vault is mine now, and apparently it was… considerable. So, thank you again for taking care of her."

"It was my pleasure, Master," Bellatrix said with a little smile, and Voldemort nodded.

"I know. Now… if I don't dance with you right this minute, I'll just take you upstairs, so let's dance."

Bellatrix laughed softly. "I don't know, My Lord; I might prefer going -"

"Bella," he growled, snatching her wine glass and Vanishing hers and his into Nonbeing. He snatched at her hand and pulled her toward the dance floor. Again, she could feel everyone watching them, and her cheeks went hot under the weight of the attention. As Voldemort pulled her into a stance for the two-step being played, she felt his palm press to her back, and she sighed contentedly.

"Ah, yes," he said in a quiet but dangerous voice, "this is precisely what I've wanted from the moment we walked into this room."

He squeezed her hand a little, and for a long time they just stared. They did this often, Bellatrix realised. They just stared at one another. It never felt odd or awkward. It was always difficult to look away. It was like some sort of connection forged every single time their eyes met and refused to let up.

This time, Bellatrix started to feel something powerful after long enough of staring. She was drowning in him, in the black of his eyes and the depth of his gaze. Her stomach flopped like she'd been flipped upside down, and she was suddenly very dizzy.

"I'm going to fall," she whispered, but her master's hands cinched on her and pulled her a little closer.

"No," he whispered. "I wouldn't let you fall."

Bellatrix felt damp heat between her thighs, an aching want for him, something sexual and something so much deeper than that. Suddenly she realised it, and she gasped aloud.

Rodolphus had asked her, that day that they'd kissed on the frost, the day that Voldemort had become enraged by Bellatrix kissing her husband. Rodolphus had asked Bellatrix if she was in love with Lord Voldemort, and at the time, she had lacked a solid answer.

She had her answer now.

He could read it, she knew, in her eyes and probably her mind. She tried to keep dancing, her feet stumbling a little as she struggled to find the rhythm again.

"I'm sorry," she found herself whispering, for she could tell now that he knew. His dark eyes flashed a little, and he cleared his throat softly.

"Show me," he mumbled. "You've been in love more than once, and you've not doubted whether it was true. Show me what it means. What it feels like."

Bellatrix frowned but then felt the thick throb of him invading her mind. He started searching through her thoughts, her memories and feelings, extracting the time she now knew without question that she had been in love.

_Staring at Rodolphus' handwritten letter and feeling her pulse race… kissing him in a rain shower along a stone wall at Hogwarts… facing Rodolphus in their bed, their fingers linked on the mattress as they whispered in the darkness._

_Dancing with Voldemort, both of them intoxicated, in his suite… waking up tangled with him, feeling his power radiating from him… the feel of him putting the emerald pendant round her neck... three nights earlier when they'd kissed in the shower until the water had gone cold… slaying his enemies in Glasgow and feeling flush with satisfaction when she realised how he'd react. Just the night before, when she'd fallen asleep on his chest to the sound of his heart beating, wondering how exactly any wizard could be as wondrous as he was._

Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix's mind. Somehow, he was keeping them moving. His hand moved a little on her back, stroking between her shoulderblades as if they were alone. It was an intimate sort of touching, and Bellatrix shivered as his dark eyes went wide.

"That's… that's what it is?" He seemed very surprised, and Bellatrix just nodded. Voldemort licked his bottom lip and shook his head, and he murmured, "I had always thought… it seemed so much more silly than that, so much more distracting and weakening and…"

"No," Bellatrix dared to correct him. "No, it… being in love makes you feel a little silly at times, to be certain, but I find it makes you stronger, nor weaker."

"And that feeling you had… last night, when you were listening to my heartbeat as you fell asleep," Voldemort asked, his voice barely audible as the strings kicked up again, "that feeling was… that was it?"

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix smiled a little, remembering how overwhelmed she'd been by him even as she'd blinked off into sleep. Voldemort's eyebrows went up, and he shook his head helplessly.

"Then I suppose," he said, sounding strained and looking a little queasy, "then I suppose I am in love with you, Bella."

Bellatrix's feet stopped then, and Voldemort nodded down at her as he mumbled,

"Keep dancing."

**Author's Note: My headcanon has always been that Voldemort is capable of loving *under the right circumstances.* For him, some empty-headed girl like Edwina Fawley could never earn actual love. And his love would never, ever be selfless. It's all for him, for his gain, for his glory. But could he feel the powerful emotions of falling in love for a witch specifically like Bellatrix? Yes, I do think so. Does that mean what love he feels will be healthy/normal/functional? Hell, no. Anyway! Now that this bombshell has been dropped, I daresay we're in for quite a lemon, yes? Mwah haha. I have birthday celebrations tomorrow and Monday but will write when I can. Please do review if you get a quick moment. Thanks!**


	14. Chapter 14

Voldemort stared at Bellatrix as he pulled out his cufflinks and set them on the shelf inside his wardrobe. He unclasped the black velvet robe he'd worn over his tuxedo shirt, and he stripped it off and hung it up. She stood there in her beautiful dress, fingering the pendant at her neck, waiting. He'd told her to wait; he'd told her he wanted to undress her himself. So she stood there, obedient and wide-eyed, her gaze studying the way his waistcoat and white shirt were coming off.

Her eyes felt like fire coursing up and down his torso, and Voldemort could feel blood flushing through his cock in his dress trousers. He kicked off his shiny black shoes and unbuttoned the trousers, pulling them off with his underwear and socks as his half-hard cock sprang out. He glanced toward the bathroom and noted,

"I could use a shower."

Bellatrix nodded, pulling out her wand and murmuring a few spells to Vanish her makeup from her face. When Voldemort frowned at her, she smiled crookedly and said,

"It probably isn't too attractive to have black eyeliner running down my cheeks."

"Oh." Voldemort shrugged. "I know nothing of… cosmetics."

Bellatrix turned round, and he let his fingertips drift around her bare back as he considered what it had felt like to realise he could fall in love, to realise he'd already done it. He'd seen in her mind what love meant. It was soft around the edges but aggressively confident. It was quiet moments of admiration, thudding moments of want. It was the sensation of being unable to continue without the other. And Bellatrix felt that toward him now. She'd shown him; he'd seen the way her mind and her soul had combined to assure her that she loved her master.

Everything she felt for him, he felt twice as insistently. The terrifying sensation of attachment, the overwhelming attraction that went far beyond the physical. Lord Voldemort had always thought himself utterly incapable of all this. Love was for fools, for the blind and the weak. Love was not for feared, powerful Dark Lords. And, anyway, his ability to care that deeply for the welfare and happiness of another human had never made itself evident.

Not until now.

"Bella." He dragged the zip of her gown down, from its place behind the heavy, low drape to the middle of her backside, and he helped her pull the gown off. His mouth fell open then; she wore absolutely nothing underneath. She stepped out of her black heels and was naked, and Voldemort breathed, "Not even knickers?"

He let the gown fall in a liquid-like puddle on the ground, and Bellatrix laughed a little as she shook her head.

"There would have been a line from knickers," she insisted, "and the back didn't allow a bra. It was easier to just… you know…"

"I don't mind," Voldemort heard himself say. He stepped closer to her, and she whispered,

"Shower?"

He nodded, feeling himself firm up more as he flicked his wand toward the bathroom to set the taps running. He and Bellatrix set their wands on his bed, and she noted distantly,

"I shall need to brew up a new potion soon. It takes a month to brew, and in two months' letime, my annual dose will expire."

"Contraceptive potion, you mean." Voldemort gulped, horrified by the mental image of his most needed soldier swollen up and then cradling a mewling child. He curled his lip in disgust at the idea, and he promised her, "I'll brew it for you. I'll start tomorrow."

Her cheeks flushed a little as they stepped into the shower, taking turns beneath the hot stream. Bellatrix put her palms to Voldemort's wet chest and whispered, her voice bouncing off the black tile.

"I got to dance with you five times tonight. Five. It was glorious, Master."

"It was, a little." He took his time washing her, relishing the way the soap made his hands glide over her breasts and stomach and hips, the way she held her arms out and watched him wash them. He circled his soapy fingertips around her back and let his enormous cock fold up against her abdomen. She leaned into it, leaned against him as he massaged the soap into her back. He ground his hips onto her just a little, letting his cock glide along her slick stomach.

"Mmph." She tipped her head back, and Voldemort leaned down to brush his lips on hers. The water rinsed the soap from her, and as Voldemort stepped back and started washing himself, he watched her heavy-lidded eyes creep downward.

"You want it, don't you?" He finished washing his legs and arms and used a soap-covered hand to caress the tip of his cock and to show off its size. Even his large hand didn't come close to encircling it entirely, and as she watched, Bellatrix seemed to take note of that. Her gaze flicked to the bench of black tile that was inlaid into the shower wall, and she asked carefully,

"Master, would you… would you sit? Please?"

"Hmm. Yes. That sounds just fine." He cocked up an eyebrow at her as he put the soap back into its shelf and finished rinsing himself. He sat, feeling the cool tile shock his warm skin, and he let his cock jut out proudly toward her. Bellatrix stalked toward him, but before she could climb onto him, Voldemort pressed his fingers between her legs. He sighed, feeling the heat and wet that had nothing to do with the shower. She was slick as an oyster, and as he twisted two fingers up into her, he found his own breath huffing desperately. He studied the way water streamed over her breasts and dripped from her peaked nipples. He watched the water course in rivulets over her flat stomach. And he groaned.

"Come here," he said finally, pulling his hand away from her. He helped her straddle him, wedging her knees between his thighs and the walls. The last time she'd done this - the last time she'd tried to mount him like this - her body hadn't been able to take it. It had hardly lasted. Voldemort touched between her legs again, and, summoning all his magical force, he murmured,

" _Allevio_."

"My Lord," Bellatrix protested, frowning, "I want to feel it."

"You'll feel it," he promised, helping guide her hips up. He let her work his tip in, knowing that alone was a difficult feat. As she did it, he brought her mouth down to his and kissed her, tasting sweet leftover sugar from wedding cake in her mouth. Champagne, he could taste. She was delicious. He carefully squeezed and cradled a breast as she swiveled her hips a little and worked her way down onto his length. She felt like the tightest, sweetest embrace around him. Her body was screaming, rejecting the invasion, but Bellatrix was soldiering onward like the good girl she was.

"Unnff…" She made a rather ungraceful sound as she slid down too far in one go, and she collapsed away from his mouth, her face going into the crook of his neck. She marveled against his skin, "Oh, it doesn't hurt… it… oh…  _oh._ "

She was rocking just a little, up a tiny bit and down again, a little forward motion every time she thrust down. Voldemort wrapped her up tightly in his arms and whispered,

"Good girl. Keep going."

He planted his feet firmly onto the wet black tile, feeling like he was standing on the edge of a precipice. She was everything right now, almost too much. She was here, snug against him, snug around him, soft and warm and beautiful. She was brilliant. Her assassination work had earned him a fortune from his spy network at Gringotts. She was unafraid, devoted, funny, intelligent. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…

"Bellatrix," Voldemort heard himself say breathlessly. Her hips were going faster now, and she had managed to take more than half his length into her body. She was keening quietly against his neck, struggling against his size despite his Painkilling Charm. She was close, he could feel. She was squeezing him more tightly round the shoulders, and her mouth had started frantically kissing the skin of his neck. She was moaning, rocking, tightening. Voldemort pressed his hands against her damp skin, splayed on her back, and he whispered, "Bellatrix."

"Ahh!" She kissed him hard on the mouth all of a sudden, and he was very aware of the way the walls of her womanhood cinched and hugged him in an arrythmic, primal way. Her nipples were so hard that he could feel them poke against his chest, and her hands shook as she snared her fingernails through his greying hair. Her kiss was messy, unfocused, but he steadied her face and kissed her back, breathing in her climax and feeling his own approaching like a steam train.

"I love you," his voice whispered. His voice had done it all on its own; Voldemort would never have said it like that. But his breath and his voice acted just the same, hot against Bellatrix's trembling lips as he said disbelievingly, "I didn't think… didn't think I'd ever want it. Want this. But I do want it, and I can neither help nor deny that…  _oh_ , bloody hell, Bella. I love… you."

He choked out that last syllable, bucking his hips up as his seed erupted eagerly into Bellatrix's body. His ears went hot and his vision blurred for a half second, and he felt so lightheaded that something compelled him to wandlessly turn down the temperature of the water. As he sat there panting, recovering, he found Bellatrix's eyes. He was still inside of her, very slowly going soft, and she seemed hesitant to climb off. Finally she did, and they both rinsed off again as she let his come wash out of her and down the drain. Voldemort shut the water off and exited the shower, handing Bellatrix a white towel and using one to quickly dry himself off.

He stalked briskly from the bathroom, feeling like an emotional moron as he threw open his wardrobe and started yanking out pyjamas and underwear.

"M-My Lord?"

"Yes, Bella?" He flicked his eyes over to see her standing in the bathroom doorway, looking achingly pretty with a towel wrapped around her body, her half-dry curls flung over one bare shoulder.

"I am afraid," she said quietly. "I do not want to anger you. But I want to say it back."

Voldemort blinked quickly, yanking on his pyjamas and slamming his wardrobe doors shut. He shrugged at her then and gulped.

"Say whatever you like."

"Master," Bellatrix murmured, stepping carefully toward him. She dared to thread her fingers through his, to hold his hands in hers, and she stared at the buttons on his pyjama shirt as she whispered, "I love you, too."

"Yes, well. Let's not make a habit of saying it so very often," Voldemort snapped. "It is a maudlin sentiment, and as true as it may be, there is no need for it to constantly be verbalised."

"Of course." Bellatrix raised her eyes to him at last, and he felt compelled to kiss her. He did, closing his eyes and remembering how it good it had felt to dance with her all night, to pretend that she wasn't even married to Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Bella," he said a few minutes later, once they'd settled into bed and she was curled against him, "We're going to riot."

"We are?" She seemed a little too excited by the prospect, and he smirked at her as she pushed up onto one elbow. Her voice was filled with glee as she asked, "When? Where?"

"Quidditch," he said simply. "Caerphilly against Tutshill. The match is in Wales next week. Half the Tutshill team are Mudbloods. The others - Abraxas and Maximus Malfoy, Nott, Mulciber, Avery, Yaxley, Rookwood, a few more - will light some of the Tutshill fan seating on fire and block exits. Create panic. During the chaos, you and I will be flying over the pitch, and we will eliminate the Tutshill players who are Mudbloods."

"Flying," Bellatrix repeated. Her smile was still broad. Voldemort nodded crisply.

"You'll be on a broom, fully Disillusioned. It's a night game; they won't be able to track you. I'll be flying unassisted."

Bellatrix scowled and shook her head. It was impossible, she was thinking, but Voldemort's smirk grew, and he informed her,

"It's a self-taught but fully mastered skill. Now, are you committed to spending the next week preparing fully for this attack, Bellatrix? It will be a show of force unlike anything we've done so far. I need to know I can count on my bravest, most able soldier. Can I?"

He reached up to cup her jaw, and Bellatrix nodded eagerly as she covered her hand with his. "Oh, yes, Master," she said happily, her eyes welling a little. "You can count on me."

"Good girl, Bella." He sighed a little, watching the excitement in her eyes and the speed of her breath. "I should have waited until morning to discuss this with you; I've riled you up.  _Accio_  Dreamless Sleep."

**Author's Note: I'm really looking forward to writing the logistics of this large-scale attack! Woo hoo! Tomorrow is my 30th birthday (ack!) so I may or may not sneak a chapter in. If I don't update until Tuesday, I appreciate your patience. As always, thank you for reading and PLEASE do leave a review if you get a quick moment. The feedback is very much appreciated.**


	15. Chapter 15

"Oh, it smells rancid." Bellatrix curled her nose up as she walked into Voldemort's suite. In the little library beyond his parlour, he'd set up a makeshift Potions station, and a hammered copper cauldron was brewing Bellatrix's contraceptive potion. Voldemort laughed quietly and shut the door.

"I had to add the Bubotuber Pus this morning," he said. "The stench shouldn't last too long. The cauldron will move to... to our hiding place. After the attack. I'll continue brewing it there. Thought I'd do the unpleasant part in a more spacious area."

Bellatrix felt a little embarrassed all of a sudden, and she shifted on her feet as she reminded him,

"I could have brewed it myself, Master."

Voldemort crossed his arms and tipped his head. "You were a middling Potions pupil at best, Bellatrix; you never had the patience or precision for it."

Bellatrix grinned and shoved her curls from her eyes. "Do you doubt my abilities as badly as that?"  
"Do you doubt my judgment?" Voldemort countered, and Bellatrix shook her head more solemnly. Voldemort sniffed and shrugged. "With this particular potion, I wish to be absolutely certain myself of its efficacy. Don't take it personally; I'm sure you could whip up a quick Draught of Living Death in a pinch."

Bellatrix laughed a little at that, and she watched as Voldemort held his wand out and nonverbally Summoned a broom from across the suite. He held it out to Bellatrix, who wrapped her fingers around the wooden handle and felt it vibrate a little. Voldemort smirked then and said,

"You may have been mediocre with Potions, but your schoolmates knew well that Miss Bellatrix Black could have played Seeker for Slytherin."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes a little. "Not exactly a 'team sport' sort of person, My Lord."

"I know. But you'll work well with me today, I think. Are you ready?"

She nodded, reaching for his hand. "Ready, Master."

He studied her for a very long moment, and then he whispered, "Let's go."

* * *

The hills around Caerphilly rolled and undulated just so, and the Catapults' home pitch was hidden in the cradle of the hilly land. Concealed from Muggles with many charms but rocking with an enthusiastic wizarding crowd, the place was emanating sound and energy.

"There they are," hissed Bellatrix from beside Voldemort. She pointed, and Voldemort watched as a small crowd of Death Eaters emerged over the crest of the hill nearby. He'd crafted dark silver masks for each of them. The masks could be removed by him alone; no one else's magic could reveal the identity of the Death Eater behind the metal. As the group approached Voldemort, they bowed their heads, and he recognised Abraxas Malfoy's voice as he said,

"Master. The match began ten minutes ago. Everyone's inside. The plan is for Nott and Avery to blast apart the bottom of the left-most Tutshill fan column. The next column will be set on fire by Mulciber and Rookwood. Yaxley and the others and I will wait at the exits and hit known Mudbloods with curses and hexes.

"Perfect," Voldemort nodded. "As soon as the chaos reaches a peak, get out. Go to your hiding places. Once Bella and I take out the Tutshill players, we'll leave. Send me owls once you're safe, and I shall correspond individually with everyone. You all have your vials of poison just in case. You die before you're captured; no one gives up any information under any circumstances. Everyone clear?"

"Yes, My Lord," murmured each Death Eater in turn. Voldemort watched them go, watched them sneak under the light green and scarlet curtains surrounding the outside of the pitch.

"Bella?" Voldemort watched her mount her broom; she'd worn utilitarian leggings and a sturdy tunic today, and he hadn't protested when she'd pulled her curls into a tight braid. She looked very young just now, but he knew she was perfectly able. A misty rain started to fall, and Voldemort sighed. He nodded at Bellatrix and reminded her, "Gryffins. Davies. Llewellyn. Moss. The others can be collateral damage, but we don't leave without taking out the Mudbloods."

Bellatrix smiled. "Gryffins. Davies. Llewellyn. Moss. Convenient that the Catapults wear their names on the backs of their robes. Shall we go, Master?"

He nodded, aiming his wand at her. He started to Disillusion her, carefully and slowly moving along her form as she began to blend in with her surroundings. Just before her face meshed against the mossy hill behind her, he murmured,

"Do me proud, Bellatrix."

"Yes, My Lord." She smiled a little, and he realised anew that he did, indeed, love her.

He kicked off the ground and Disillusioned himself as he went. He rocketed skyward, his perfected method of unassisted flight sending him soaring easily through the misty air. He found a place above the pitch and stared down at the match below.

"My Lord?" he heard Bellatrix call, and when he turned toward the sound of her voice, he smirked.

"Can't see you," he called back.

"Good. Oh, look. There's fire!" Bellatrix sounded gleeful. Voldemort turned his attention to one of the columns of Tutshill spectators, eyeing the way the flames crawled up the blue linens round the tower. It took a surprisingly long time for someone to scream, and then suddenly there were witches and wizards panicking. They were leaping, climbing, shrieking. The Quidditch players stopped the match, watching in horror as alarm took over the pitch.

_BANG!_

Another column of Tutshill spectators was engulfed in sudden, curling fire, the result of a violent explosion. Voldemort heard Bellatrix cackle with glee as the tower tipped precipitously and then fell straight onto the grass of the pitch. People rolled about, some injured, some unmoving. Voldemort's heart raced in his chest. He felt powerful. This was all for show, all to demonstrate how they ought to fear him. And they were afraid.

There were flashes of red and blue and white at the exits of the stadium. People were pouring out onto the hillside, and the Death Eaters were hitting them with hexes and curses. The Quidditch teams seemed unsure of what to do, so Voldemort barked at Bellatrix,

"Now. Take them out now.  _Avada Kedavra!_ " He aimed his own wand at the bulky wizard called Davies. His aim was perfect, and the Killing Curse hit the man square in his back. He tumbled lifelessly from his broom and slammed to the ground. There were more screams, and the flames were spreading beyond the control of those desperately trying to put them out.

" _Avada Kedavra! AVADA KEDAVRA!_ " Bellatrix's voice was shaking with enthusiasm. Her Killing Curses hit one after the other, smacking straight into the two witches - Moss and Gryffins - who had rushed to the body of the player Voldemort had killed. He hurried to take out Llewellyn, who was rather admirably attempting to help some injured spectators.

Then he surveyed the scene and found himself going just a little hard beneath his robes. He hovered in the air, drifting around blissfully as he watched the grass of the pitch catch fire. More screams. Piles of Stupefied spectators outside one entrance. A wizard twitching on the ground under the force of Yaxley's Cruciatus Curse. One by one, the Death Eaters Disapparated, leaving wounded and disfigured and sobbing people behind them.

"Should we go, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked breathlessly from behind him. Voldemort rotated his body, leaning back a little in the air, and he said smoothly,

"This time, Bellatrix, I want them to  _know_. We take pride in this work. We'll all have to hide, but the time has come to take credit for what we've done, what we'll continue to do. You know the spell. Tattoo the sky."

"Yes, Master." Bellatrix sounded very emotional then, and her cry burst forth as green glitter shot up from her wand. " _Morsmordre!_ '

Voldemort watched her Dark Mark curl up beneath the heavy blanket of clouds. He stared at the symbol he'd created -  _his_ symbol for  _his_ movement - and he listened to the cries and screams from below. He glanced down to see that the stadium had mostly been destroyed, that quite a few figures simply weren't moving.

They'd all have to scatter, he knew. He'd have to take Bellatrix to his secret little house on the Isle of Man, the place to which he'd fled in times of intense pressure. There had never been pressure like that which would come.

Every Death Eater had been given a specific place to go after this attack. France, Ireland, a Muggle village in the Midlands. They'd go underground whilst the wizarding world reeled in horror, whilst their enemies absorbed the shock of all this. And when Voldemort was ready, he'd surface again.

He'd already sent trunks to Sollan Cottage, his top-secret seaside home on the Isle of Man. Bellatrix would be coming with him; Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange would be going to a place in the Outer Hebrides. Now, as Voldemort flicked his eyes back and forth between the Dark Mark in the sky and the carnage below, he called out,

"Bella. Time to go. Take off your Disillusionment."

Suddenly she appeared out of thin air, silent tears streaming down her cheeks as she grinned and panted atop her broom. Voldemort took off his own Disillusionment, and he flew slowly toward her, stopping just before her broom. He took her face in his hands, kissing her cheek and tasting her tear of awed joy. Salt, the salt of her devotion. He put his lips beside her ear and whispered,

"I love you. My good girl."

Then he took hold of her and Disapparated, and the two of them came to outside a whitewashed cottage with a thatched roof.

**Author's Note: Whew! So, how will the wizarding world react to an attack of this scale? And what happens when Bellatrix and Voldemort are alone on an island in a tiny cottage for a little while? Mwah hahaha. Today's my actual birthday, so I had to write this chapter quickly, and I may not be able to update until tomorrow, but I promise to update ASAP. Thanks for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16

" _Aaaaagh!_ " Bellatrix toppled from where she stood, falling to her knees and shrieking a wordless, shrill keen of pain. She held up her left hand, which was gurgling scarlet blood, and she gasped and screamed again.

Three of her fingers and half her palm were missing. She'd Splinched herself. She'd been distracted by her glee in Caerphilly, and she'd left part of her hand behind when they'd come by Side-Along Apparition.

"Bella. Bellatrix.  _Arresto Sanguine._ "

Voldemort's voice was oddly steady given that Bellatrix's hand was bubbling blood all over her robes and the rocky ground. His Styptic Spell didn't really work; the bleeding was just as bad as ever. Bellatrix started to feel dizzy, and she blinked slowly as the pain shot up her arm and throbbed. It felt like someone had set her on fire.

"My Lord," she heard herself whisper, and then she realised he'd picked her up and had her cradled in his arms. They were walking into a house - a cottage - and she was being set on a brown leather sofa. She lay there bleeding and woozy, sobbing quietly through the excruciating pain. Her whole body started to shake.

"Bellatrix, stay awake," she heard her master's voice say sternly. She blinked her eyes and saw him stride quickly to a wooden cupboard in the corner. He threw it open and started yanking out bottles. A Potions store, right here in his hideaway. That was intelligent. Bellatrix held up her hand and let her head loll to the side.

"My rings," she croaked softly. "My wedding rings."

"Hold on, Bella." Voldemort set a series of bottles down on the rustic, low wooden table before the sofa. He blew the dust out of a little shot glass, and Bellatrix noticed then how very covered he was in her blood. It was smeared all over his face, matting his hair, dripping from his fingers. He didn't seem fazed. He yanked the cork from a bottle of Skele-Gro and filled the shot glass, and he crouched down and brought it to Bellatrix's lips.

She drank, coughing and spluttering through the awful taste as Voldemort began using a dropper to put Dittany all over her open wound. It hissed and steamed and stung. Then he filled the shot glass from a glittering gold bottle marked 'Flesh Anew,' which was a product Bellatrix had only heard about. She'd never needed to regrow tendons and muscle and skin. She drank it down when Voldemort brought it to her lips. It tasted, somehow, even worse than the Skele-Gro.

Next came a little vial of Sanguinalis Serum, which would help her body replenish the supply of blood she'd lost. Finally Voldemort picked up a blue glass bottle and murmured,

"This is Anodyne Potion. It'll throw you for a loop, but it'll help the pain. Regrowing those fingers is going to hurt badly. You'll need a few days. Here."

He poured a little of the translucent blue liquid into the shot glass, and when Bellatrix drank it, it was cloyingly sweet, like sugar water. She blinked a few times, leaning her head back against the arm of the sofa as the pain started to fade. She began to feel profoundly drunk, more intoxicated than she'd ever been in her life, and she let out a wordless little sound of helpless confusion.

" _Tergeo… Scourgify…"_  The Dark Lord was cleaning them both up, she knew. She'd ruined their moment to celebrate the glorious attack in Caerphilly. She was so stupid. She was so worthless.

"Don't cry, Bellatrix; even I've Splinched myself before," Voldemort said. Bellatrix hadn't realised she'd been crying. Suddenly she started repeating two words, over and over again.

"My rings. My rings… my rings."

"Don't worry about that." Voldemort's voice was almost rough as he scooped her up off the sofa and carried her out of the little sitting room. He took her into a cosy bedroom with a stout, dark bed covered in a homespun quilt. He pulled the blankets back and put a pillow under her left arm, and she watched with bleary eyes as he Transfigured her battle attire into a nightgown and used spells to wash her hair and teeth. He tucked her beneath the blankets and bent to kiss her cheek.

"Caerphilly was a wild success," Voldemort said gently. "You did very well. I am exceedingly proud of you."

"My rings." Bellatrix stared down at her hand, knowing that even when she regrew her missing fingers, her rings from Rodolphus would be gone forever.

' _Dolph, are you all right? You look like you're about to be sick.' Bellatrix stared across the study table in the Slytherin common room at Rodolphus. His face was grey, and he cleared his throat roughly as he pulled himself up from his chair. He strode around the table and descended to one knee beside Bellatrix's chair. She set down her quill, feeling her stomach flop._

' _What are you doing, Dolph?'_

' _Bella.' He reached into his robes and pulled out a glittering ring, a band of gold lined in tiny diamonds with a round diamond at the top. Bellatrix couldn't breathe then, but she found Rodolphus' eyes as he informed her, 'I love you more than life itself. I could never be happy if I didn't have you. Please, Bella… please, please, will you marry me?'_

' _Oh.' Bellatrix nodded frantically and held out her hand as Rodolphus slid the ring on. 'Oh, yes, Rodolphus. I will marry you.'_

"Bellatrix."

She was barely conscious now, but she could feel tears streaming down her face as it dawned on her foggy mind that the last vestige of Rodolphus loving her was gone.

"Bella, I need you to stay here," she heard Voldemort say, and she wanted to reply that she hardly had any choice, that she was not exactly in any fit state to leave. But she felt Voldemort's fingers in her curls, and as she drifted off to sleep, his voice purred, "You did so well. What a beautifully vicious heroine you were for me today. Close your eyes, and when you wake, I'll be back."

Bellatrix let her eyes flutter shut, and she dreamed a very bizarre vision of cats gathered for a party to honour a particularly beautiful, white silky cat. They all ate kibble and sipped milk and chatted with one another. Cats. Lots of happy cats. It was an odd dream, and when Bellatrix finally woke, she was shocked by the strange, lingering feel of it.

"Oh… agh…" She sat up quickly, for the pain had come back in full force. The bedroom was completely dark now, but she could still see that her hand was only slightly beginning its healing process.

"Bella." The voice came from beside her, and when she turned her head, Voldemort sat up from where he'd been sleeping and reached for his wand. He brushed it over the snarled mess of tissue on her left hand and whispered, " _Allevio… Allevio Trio…"_

The pain improved significantly; the throbbing faded and the sting dimmed. Bellatrix turned her eyes to Voldemort, who raked his fingers through his hair and set his wand back down, and she mumbled,

"Oh, Master. I certainly dampened what was meant to be a celebration of a great victory. I am so sorry."

He said nothing, and for a moment she felt fear go through her veins, her blood seeming to freeze within her. Voldemort picked a little at the handmade Manx quilt on the humble bed, and he said quietly,

"It was well done in Wales. When I went back to the scene - Disillusioned, of course - it was swarming with Ministry officials and Healers. It was still chaos; the Dark Mark you cast was still glittering emerald in the sky."

Bellatrix frowned. She must not have heard correctly, she thought. She rubbed her right hand against her eye and asked, "You went back? Why?"

"Because," Voldemort huffed, "something of rather significant value was left on the field there. I confess that when I Summoned them, I wasn't expecting to find myself holding half your left hand. It was a bit gruesome, even for my taste. I Vanished your fingers and cleaned up the rings."

He reached then for something on the table beside the bed, and when he held his hand out to her, Bellatrix saw the engagement ring Rodolphus had given her in their seventh year at Hogwarts, along with her simple gold wedding band. She touched the rings with trembling fingers, her eyes welling thickly with tears as she raised her gaze to Voldemort. His dark eyes were cold and distant, and he admitted,

"I looked into your mind. A little bit of you does love him still. You would have pretended not to mind that the rings were gone, but you'd have minded. And it was easy enough to get them back for you."

"My Lord…" Bellatrix felt tears tumble down her cheeks, and she wondered if she'd ever stop crying. She'd been crying forever now, it seemed, and it was an uncharacteristic thing for her to do. She brushed her fingers over the rings, staring at them in Voldemort's palm.

Then she realised that the Rodolphus she'd loved was gone from her heart, replaced entirely by the Dark Lord. Voldemort had supplanted Rodolphus in every imaginable way. Suddenly, Bellatrix didn't know what to say.

"You can say 'thank you,'" Voldemort suggested, a bite in his voice. Bellatrix looked up at him again and nodded.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Now, please, will you Vanish them?"

Voldemort's eyes flashed a little, and he curled his fingers shut protectively around the rings. His tongue grazed over his bottom lip, and he warned them both,

"You'll hate me eventually if I do."

"No," Bellatrix argued. She glanced down at her left hand, and the marled skin that was starting to grow, the poking emergence of new bone, and she mused, "I think there's a very good reason that the only part of me that got Splinched bore the final remnant of that old love. But that love is dead, Master. It is as you said; you spoke the truth. For me, there is only you."

She ripped her eyes away from her wounded hand and stared at him then, and she watched Voldemort's throat bob. He reached with his right hand for his wand, hesitating visibly, and Bellatrix nodded to encourage him. Finally, Voldemort pried his fingers open, and as he aimed his wand at the rings, he whispered,

" _Legilimens._ "

_Rodolphus laughed as he danced with Edwina Fawley. They looked natural together, as though she had been made just for Dolph. Bellatrix sipped at some wine as she waited for Voldemort to finish a conversation with her father - some droll financial discussion. She watched Rodolphus twirl Edwina, who giggled like mad at the move, and then pull her near to his body again._

_She ought to have been jealous, Bellatrix thought. After all, she'd loved Rodolphus fiercely, and he'd loved her even more. But that time was gone. For her, there was only one wizard who could possess her sentiments the way Dolph had once done. She turned her eyes to see Lord Voldemort muttering something to her father. Her heart picked up a little as she studied him - tall, handsome, older but not 'old,' elegant and powerful. She craved him, every bit of him. She wanted to be his until the day she died. She adored him. She loved him and him alone._

"Bella."

She kept her eyes on the rings, reaching to brush her thumb over them one last time, and she repeated,

"There is only you, My Lord."

"Look at me," he said, and she did. She raised her eyes to him, remembering how good it had felt to destroy with him, to wreak havoc with him. She thought of what it was like to kiss him, to feel him inside of her, to talk with him about various and sundry nothings and matters of the deepest importance. She was ferociously in love with Lord Voldemort, and she would never, ever be able to love anyone again, she thought. Not after him. Not after this.

He nodded and glanced down to where his wand was aimed at his palm.

" _Evanesco._ "

**Author's Note: Oh, my. So, Voldemort's willing to put himself at huge risk to return to Caerphilly to fetch Bellatrix's rings, and just as willing to destroy the last materials of significance from her love with Rodolphus. They're both in deep now! What will the copy of the** _ **Prophet**_   **say when it arrives? How will Bellatrix's hand heal? We'll find out soon. :}**

**I normally despise begging for reviews, but I'd really love some feedback on this one. Obviously, all writers love to hear what their readers think. Please, if you get just thirty seconds or so to drop a quick note, I would be enormously grateful. :D**


	17. Chapter 17

" _MAYHEM AND MURDER - DISASTER IN CAERPHILLY! By now, word has made its way through most of the wizarding community about the terrifying attack at a Quidditch match between the Caerphilly Catapults and the Tutshill Tornados. An estimated twenty-nine witches and wizards are dead and scores more injured. Aeson Hickey, head Healer at St Mungo's, said the hospital had been utterly overwhelmed by injuries ranging from burns and broken limbs to severe concussions victims of Cruciatus Curses._

' _We had to quickly Expand our wings for injuries and catastrophes,' Hickey said. 'We've had families in frantically searching for wounded relatives, only to discover their loved one was among those killed.'_

_More than half the Tutshill squad was murdered in what appeared to be a carefully coordinated attack. Minister for Magic Eugenia Jenkins noted that all four Tutshill players killed were Muggle-borns, and that several fleeing fans hit with Killing Curses by masked assassins were also Muggle-born._

' _Make no mistake,' said Minister Jenkins. 'This slaughter was designed to target Muggle-born players and fans, and it was the work of blood purity fanatics. We all know who did this.'_

_The green symbol of a skull and serpent in the air above the smouldering stadium backed Minister Jenkins' claim. The symbol, rumoured to be called the 'Dark Mark,' is the hallmark of the Dark wizard who now heads up the most powerful blood purity movement since Gellert Grindelwald's efforts._

' _My husband was murdered,' sobbed Maria Llewellyn, talking to the Prophet at her home in northern Wales. 'He was killed because he came from a Muggle background. This massacre was organised and carried out by You-Know-Who.'_

_When asked if the Auror Office intends to actively pursue the perpetrators of the disaster, Jenkins said the Ministry wants to avoid 'all-out war' and that she worries this incident may radicalise some already inclined to follow the Dark wizard in pursuing his goals._

' _We will seek any and all justice that we can without opening the door for more chaos,' Minister Jenkins said. 'My thoughts are with everyone who suffered at Caerphilly.'"_

Voldemort set down the newspaper on the table and leaned back a little in his chair at the rustic little table in his cottage's kitchen. Bellatrix gave him a weak smile where she sat with her arm carefully propped.

"They wouldn't print your name," she noted. "Are they afraid to say it?"

"Perhaps they are." Voldemort gave her a smug expression. "If you weren't my ally, wouldn't you be afraid of me?"

"I am your ally, and I'm still afraid of you, Master." Bellatrix reached her right hand toward him, stroking his sleeve, and she begged him, "Let me worship you. Please. Please, I'll just kneel and use my mouth and -"

Voldemort snorted a laugh and shook his head. "Bellatrix," he said, amused, "you're regrowing fingers. Bone and tendon and flesh. Don't botch that process by overexerting yourself. The last thing you want is to have a useless left hand because you couldn't keep yourself away from my cock."

"Sorry," Bellatrix muttered. She looked embarrassed then, so Voldemort tipped his head and smirked a little.

"I have an idea," he said rather slyly. "Something that I think may bring the both of us some pleasure in the wake of all this. Caerphilly went well; the newspaper coverage is perfect. Let's celebrate."

Bellatrix looked confused, especially when Voldemort rose and pulled her chair out. She was on the back end of a dose of Anodyne Potion, and he didn't want her stumbling or falling. So he threaded his arms beneath her knees and behind her back, and he lifted her into a cradle. As he walked toward the bedroom, Bellatrix grinned and asked,

"What are you going to do to me?"

"It's more of what I'm going to do  _on_  you," Voldemort teased. He felt genuinely happy right this moment. People wouldn't even say his name.  _Lord Voldemort_  was such a terrifying title now that people's lips couldn't articulate it. They wouldn't even print it in the paper. He started to flush hard beneath his robes at the thought of all this. He carefully set Bellatrix in the middle of the bed, and he knelt above her. He put a knee on either side of her hips and stripped off his outer robe.

Bellatrix laid her left hand aside carefully; she was starting to grow the hints of new fingers, but she still had bone exposed. Voldemort used spells to clean and disinfect her healing hand a few times a day, and he was keeping her dosed with painkillers, but he knew she was fighting through the process harder than she was showing him.

Now she stared up at him, wide-eyed with admiration and obvious arousal as Voldemort unbuttoned the black wool trousers he wore. He shoved them down a little and used both hands to pull his cock out, and then he whispered,

"Use your right hand with mine."

He kept his own hand on his shaft as Bellatrix reached up with shaking fingers to touch at his tip. He shuddered at the feeling of her thumb pressing carefully at the sensitive spot on the bottom. He shut his eyes as he pumped his own hand, and he hissed with delight when Bellatrix started working more insistently with his tip. Swirling, stroking, brushing her knuckles and moaning like a little whore.

"Bella." He whispered her name, his mind reeling with the feel of her hand, the sight of her parted lips. He needed to come on those lips, he thought suddenly. He pushed her hand away and used both his own hands to pump and thrust vigorously until he could feel everything tighten and go hot. His voice sounded desperate to his own ears then. "Bella. Bella,  _Bellatrix…_ "

His come exploded from his cock with more force than he'd anticipated, so though he'd been aiming specifically for her lips, it wound up everywhere. It splattered in creamy streams from her forehead to her chin, dribbling onto her chest. The climax seemed to go on forever, much longer than usual, and Voldemort gasped at the sight of her covered in his seed. She looked positively blissful, smiling peacefully beneath the coating of his come.

"Oh." His voice shook like mad as he reached for his wand. He waited before siphoning it up, letting her lie there with it all over her for a long moment. He shuddered with a little aftershock of pleasure, and then he finally mumbled, " _Tergeo._ "

A few moments later, he'd Summoned fresh Anodyne and dosed her again, and he lay down beside her on the bed and relaxed a little.

"Thank you, Master," Bellatrix murmured, sounding like she speaking underwater. The Anodyne was soaking into her veins now, but he knew she had enjoyed getting covered by him like that.

"I must admit," Voldemort said in a jovial little voice, "that I'd expected it to take a little longer. Coming too quickly is a young man's problem, you know. But I think that, in many ways, you make me young again, Bella."

"Mmm." She nestled up against him a little, and he rearranged her hand on a pillow since she was too groggy to make sure she didn't hurt herself. He kissed her forehead and whispered,

"They're afraid of me."

"So afraid… they won't even speak your name," Bellatrix nodded, brushing her lips against the fabric of his robe. "You will have everything. You will be everything to them, just like you are to me."

Voldemort blinked. "You and I will always be very different. They'll be afraid, just like you are. They'll worship me, not as well as you do. But I will never love any of them, Bellatrix, and I do love you."

She was quiet for so long that he thought she'd fallen asleep, but then she mumbled, "I love you, too, Master."

He took a very long breath then, wishing for some reason that she had never married Rodolphus Lestrange. Would he marry her? If she were available for him to claim like, would he do it?

He stared at her hand, at the place where she'd lost fingers because she'd been so excited by serving him that she had Splinched herself. He stared at her wild curls and vividly remembered scolding her at the Christmas party for tying them back into a braid. He remembered taking her for the first time, on the desk in his office. He thought of waking beside her, breathing in the warmth and scent of her. Her eyes when she'd just killed for him, the glisten in her gaze when they danced.

Oh, yes, he thought then. If he could do it, he would marry her. She'd already claimed everything human about him for her own. Soon enough he'd be a superhuman figure to all of wizarding Britain. It was already happening. He was already transcending humanity. They were afraid of his name now. But to Bellatrix, he was not just her beloved lord and master. He was so much more than that. He was the human man she loved. And he did love her. So, yes, he thought. If he could do it, he would marry her.

But he couldn't do it, because, although she was entirely his, he couldn't marry her. He'd Vanished her wedding rings at her request, the rings he'd pried off her severed fingers on a field in Caerphilly, the rings another man had given her. He'd Vanished them. He was lying in a bed with her curled against him right this moment. And he did love her. But he couldn't marry her, because through it all, she was still another man's wife.

For now.

**Author's Note: Well, that's rather ominous, isn't it? Do you think Voldemort will try and get Rodolphus out of his way? I haven't made it clear yet whether or not this story is canon-compliant, so I guess you'll have to just see what he does. ;) And they're starting to stop saying/printing the name 'Voldemort.' What does that mean for his public profile? As always, thank you for reading. *Insert standard request for feedback here***


	18. Chapter 18

Bellatrix curled her lips up where she stood on the beach, the black stones smooth beneath her bare feet. She'd worn a black minidress despite the chill, and she stood where the rolling waves reached just high enough on their path to kiss her ankles. The water was frigid. The sky was grey. The wind whipped madly. It felt like home, like the place she'd been meant to be born and live. It was wild, angry, dark and churning, and so it felt like a natural place for Bellatrix to be.

She eyed the sharp hills around her, grass and stone and dirt and tossed together in a rough and inhospitable way. She stared out at the horizon, at the way the sun was going down to her left. Then she heard the crunch of boots on rocks behind her, and she turned slowly as her curls were spun up by the wind.

"My Lord," she smiled, for he'd been gone almost thirty-six hours now. He had said it was very important that he go and even more important that she stay. As he towered over her now, letting his boots and the hem of his robes get wet from the waves, he tipped his head and asked,

"Did you miss me?"

"Terribly," Bellatrix nodded. He picked up her left hand and studied it carefully. He nodded with approval and said,

"It's looking very good now. Can you move them?"

Bellatrix winced as she tried to bend the freshly-grown fingers, and she shook her head. "Still need a little more time for them to work properly. But it all feels right, if you know what I mean."

"It's all growing back nicely," Voldemort agreed. Then he stared straight into Bellatrix's eyes, and she felt the same connection forge that always did when they locked gazes. He huffed out a little breath and said very matter-of-factly, "This morning, Rodolphus Lestrange gave his life for his master. He and Parnell Parkinson snuck into the Ministry of Magic with the help of Augustus Rookwood. They Transfigured their features and Imperiused their way through many layers of security. They were attempting to assassinate the Minister of Magic, you understand. Well, they were found out by Aurors, and in the ensuing skirmish, both Rodolphus and Parnell were lost. They died heroes."

Bellatrix couldn't breathe. She blinked quickly, thinking there ought to be tears of shock and horror forming, but none came. She was surprised, alarmed even, but for some reason, the sadness she knew she ought to feel didn't come. She was not overwhelmed with the grief she knew a widow ought to feel. She was completely numb as she kept her eyes on Voldemort and noted,

"You sent him on a suicide mission."

Voldemort shrugged. "It wouldn't have done for me to… slay him. To execute him. Not over this. As I said, he died a hero for the cause."

"That's very convenient for you, Master," Bellatrix whispered. Her curls were making it hard to see, so she yanked them out of the wind and quickly braided them into a thick plait, Conjuring a tie to bind it all up. She sighed and then realised she wouldn't have been able to braid without using her new fingers on her left hand. She stared at the hand and flexed her fingers, noting that she'd simply braided through the pain. She did, in fact, have mobility there.

But she ought to be thinking of Rodolphus. She ought to be thinking of the way he'd felt in bed beside her, the way he'd been so shy and rather adorable when they'd been at Hogwarts together. She ought to think of how he'd slid her wedding band on during their binding ceremony.

"You could have just dissolved the marriage," Bellatrix said, lowering her eyes to the black stones at her feet. She watched a wave come in, felt the cold water round her ankles, and added, "If you didn't want me married, Master, you could have easily unbound me from him."

"I could have, but the Dark Lord marrying a follower he divorced from another follower? That would look rather pathetic. Far better than you be widowed."

"Wait. Marry?" Bellatrix snapped her eyes up to him, and Voldemort cleared his throat roughly.

"I should like to put a ring of my own on that new finger of yours," he said. Bellatrix panted unevenly, staggering back a step as she choked out,

"You sent my husband on a mission you knew would get him killed so that you could make me the widow of a martyr. So that you could marry me. Why?  _Why?_ "

Voldemort's cheeks coloured in the fading light, and he narrowed his eyes. "Because I love you. That's why."

"You're not even the slightest bit sorry," Bellatrix spat, and Voldemort stepped nearer to her.

"No, I am not sorry. And I am, frankly, rather horrified to see this level of emotion from a soldier like you, Bellatrix. You know perfectly well that this was the cleanest way to handle the situation."

"The situation," Bellatrix repeated. "The situation being that you wanted a married witch and needed to get her husband out of the way."

"You make it all sound so very ordinary," Voldemort sneered, "but I am no ordinary man. I the Dark Lord. Rodolphus Lestrange was a serviceable foot soldier. And as for you…  _you_ … soon enough, all of wizarding Britain will be a mob of simpering sycophants to me, but  _you_ , Bellatrix, and something entirely different. You are the only one permitted to view my humanity, the only one allowed inside my actual existence. I could not carry on with you as my mistress, my lover. It's undignified and entirely unacceptable that the Dark Lord be the 'other man.' You could not have a husband. Dissolving your marriage would have left me with two divorced servants. Also unacceptable. He had to die. I could have just murdered him with one simple spell; instead he'll be remembered as a hero who went down fighting hard for me."

Bellatrix nodded as a soft rain began to fall. There was a distant rumble of thunder, and she sniffed as the rain turned from a drizzle to a downpour. They should go inside, she thought. It was cold and wet out here. But she just stood there, the waves curling around her ankles, the rain soaking her braid, and she said up to her master,

"I'd already said my goodbyes to him. In many ways. He was already gone from me. And you are right, of course. You were merciful; you must have exactly what you want, and you handled it brilliantly. You handle everything brilliantly. I mourn him, but from a distance now."

"And?" Voldemort asked then, raking his fingers through his hair. "You did not respond to my proposition."

Bellatrix sank her teeth into her lip. "I wasn't actually asked anything… Master."

Voldemort took her wet face in his hands and bent down to touch his forehead to hers. He shut his eyes, and Bellatrix did the same, letting the rain and the waves soak them both as their breath mingled in the cold air.

"I am climbing," Voldemort murmured. "Faster and faster, I am ascending a ladder, and soon I will be at the top. It will all be mine. Please… Bellatrix… be my wife through the climb. Be my wife at the top."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, nodding and letting him kiss her hard. He should hate him for all of this, she thought. He had dragged her away from Rodolphus for the first time back at the Malfoy Christmas party. He'd swept her into a dance, and it was all over for her and Dolph from that moment on. But now Rodolphus was dead, shoved into a suicide mission by the master who could no longer abide Rodolphus being alive. He'd been killed to get him out of Lord Voldemort's way, to make room on Bellatrix's new finger for a new ring. So Bellatrix should be indignant and hurt and angry. She should be crying.

And she did cry, but it was because she realised she was going to be his wife.  _His_  wife - Voldemort's wife. She'd probably keep her name the same, since  _Lestrange_  would be the surname of a martyr, and it would hardly do for her to take Voldemort's name in any way, shape, or form.

She knew virtually nothing about the life he'd led as a child. She knew he'd been known as Tom Riddle at Hogwarts, where he'd been a Slytherin with the likes of Mulciber and Avery and Malfoy. He'd traveled and changed his name, coming back to Britain to start a movement from the ground up. She knew that much and little else of his past.

She knew other things, though. She knew that he drank his tea without any sugar or milk; he liked it scalding hot and at least twice a day. She knew that he slept on his back and hardly moved once he'd fallen asleep, but that the slightest sound could rouse him. She knew that he was right-handed, but for some reason cleaned his teeth with his toothbrush in his left hand. She knew that he disliked anything lemon-flavoured, that he quite liked the sound of a well-played violin, that he adored dancing with her. She knew that he was exceptionally skilled at wandless Conjuring, that his Legilimency abilities were unequaled in their strength and subtlety, that he chewed his bottom lip whilst holding a Cruciatus Curse.

And she knew this - the feel of one hand at the small of her back and the other cupping her jaw, his tongue scraping the roof of her mouth, his voice vibrating against her lips. She knew him, the terrifying and wonderful Dark wizard whose name had become sacred and traumatic for others. She knew Lord Voldemort, and she adored him in a way she could never, ever adore anyone else. She'd never loved Rodolphus this deeply. No one had ever loved anyone this deeply, Bellatrix didn't think.

She would kill for him, die for him, be tortured for him. She'd do it a thousand times over, and he knew that. She would fight for him until her last breath. And she would fall asleep curled up beside him, and she would wear on her newly reconstructed left hand rings that he would put on her. She was going to marry him. She was going to be his wife.

"It'll need to go one of two ways," Voldemort said, pulling back a little. "Either a binding ceremony that's entirely private, or a grand ceremony at Malfoy Manor. You know that if we make it public, it'll need to feel far more like an event of state, an official and formal gathering. Nothing mawkish or slushy. It'd need to be terribly dignified and very serious."

"Well, of course," Bellatrix nodded, shivering in the rain. "It is a very serious thing, I think. Marrying the Dark Lord."

He smirked a little. "A grand ceremony, then. But first… we must bury him. And that will be a ceremony unto itself. There can be no official engagement, no announcement, no planning… not until after…"

After her husband was in the ground and people had moved on from the emotion of his death, Bellatrix thought. She shut her eyes and tried to think of him, of Rodolphus. It didn't work very well. For some reason, she could hardly see his face. She opened her eyes and met Voldemort's gaze, and she whispered,

"I'm going to marry you, Master."

He curled his lips up a bit and nodded. "Yes, Bella. Yes, you are."

* * *

"You did well." Voldemort sat on the edge of his bed in his suite at Malfoy Manor as Bellatrix came walking out of the bathroom. Three weeks had passed since Rodolphus Lestrange and Parnell Parkinson had been killed at the Ministry. Voldemort and the others had spent that time in hiding, letting dust settle and holding off further attacks so they could creep back to their normal residences. Malfoy Manor was now the most stringently-warded and carefully guarded place in Britain, far more secure than even Hogwarts could hope to be.

Today at Castle Lestrange, Voldemort had presided over the funeral of Rodolphus. He'd spoken of Rodolphus' devotion, of the way he'd volunteered for a mission that was unlikely to succeed but would have been miraculous if it had worked. He had been courageous unto the end, Voldemort had said. Rabastan Lestrange had stood with his parents, and Bellatrix beside them. Farther away, Edwina Fawley had sobbed like a child through it all. Bellatrix had dutifully Conjured a beautiful wreath of deep red roses and had bid a quiet farewell as Rodolphus' casket was lowered into the ground. There had been a sedate reception afterward, during which Bellatrix had been calm and sombre as one person after another gave her condolences.

But then she'd come back to Malfoy Manor with her lord and master, and she'd said that she needed a shower desperately. Voldemort knew why. Rodolphus was dead now. He was buried. He was completely and utterly gone. And now that Bellatrix stood clean, wrapped in a towel, she was free.

Voldemort watched her pull on black lace knickers and a short silk black nightgown. He wouldn't take her body. Not tonight. It felt uncouth. But there was one thing he did need to do to her.

"Will you come here for a moment?" he asked, reaching into the pocket of his trousers and feeling cold metal against his fingers. He turned the ring over in his hand a few times as Bellatrix approached him. He felt very nervous all of a sudden, for he was about to do something he had never, ever supposed he would do. He cleared his throat a little Bellatrix stepped up between his knees. She gave him a curious look, and Voldemort reached for her left hand. He studied the way her fingers had regrown perfectly, the way her skin blended into the areas that hadn't Splinched. He looked up at her and saw the realisation come over her face. He dragged his thumb along her fourth finger and told her,

"I'm not entirely certain that I'd be able to do it without you. Any of it. Becoming the wizard I'm meant to be, achieving the things I'm meant to do, taking the things I'm meant to have. I believe I need you with me, and so… I will marry you, Bella, and your husband will rule everything with you by his side."

Her eyes welled and then spilled over. She'd just taken her annual dose of contraceptive potion; producing children had nothing to do with any of this. And it wasn't just mushy love, either. It went deeper than that; this was a marriage the likes of which had never existed before. Voldemort slid the ring he'd created onto Bellatrix's finger, and his breath caught at the sight of it there. Bellatrix whimpered with shocked delight when she saw it.

It was a copper-heavy alloy of rose gold, a band that twisted so that serpents ran down the sides. The cradle at the top consisted of two black tungsten skulls such that the entire band made twin Dark Marks. And in the centre of it at the top was a round, perfectly colourless diamond.

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed in awe. "Where did you… where did this come from?"

"I made it," Voldemort said, rather self-consciously. "It took quite a lot of trial and error; I hope you like it."

"It's magnificent." She was having trouble talking through her emotion, he knew. She suddenly straddled him where he sat on the edge of the bed, settling down onto his lap and crushing her mouth hard against his. She pushed at his chest a little, and as he lay down and her hands flew to the placket of his trousers, Voldemort thought perhaps he would wind up having her body tonight, after all.

**Author's Note: Whew! Lots to process here. So Voldemort did get Rodolphus out of the way, and Bellatrix had already achieved closure with that love being gone. Now that Rodolphus is buried and Voldemort put a ring on it (heh), how about some good old-fashioned wedding planning… for an event that's essentially going to feel like a military ceremony? Woo hoo!**


	19. Chapter 19

"Bella, dear. How are you holding up?" Druella Rosier Black folded her hands neatly at the breakfast table. Bellatrix had come to visit her family, ostensibly for comfort in the wake of Rodolphus' funeral, but Bellatrix had other reasons for coming. She cleared her throat and dabbed her napkin to her lips, glancing toward her sisters Andromeda and Narcissa. Her father had already gone to work for the day.

"I'm sure you all noticed that, for some time before Rodolphus fell in battle, his marriage to me had dissolved a little." Bellatrix studied everyone's reactions. Andromeda threw up a judgmental eyebrow, Narcissa looked a little sorry, and Druella pursed her lips tightly as she hissed,

"Yes. He had that whore Edwina Fawley."

"Well, he had Edwina," Bellatrix agreed, "and I had someone of my own. It had gone on for some time."

"You don't mean…" Narcissa's pale face flushed pink with fear. "You mean…  _him_? The Dark Lord?"

"Yes." Bellatrix nodded firmly, and Druella yelped in surprise. Andromeda shook her head and tutted, and Bellatrix narrowed her eyes.

"Right, Andy. Go ahead and being a judgy little wench, why don't you? It isn't as though we don't all know about Ted Tonka."

"I thought those were just nasty rumours," Narcissa protested, but Bellatrix tipped her head up and said smugly,

"The Dark Lord has spies at Hogwarts. He has every reason to believe that Andy's been  _very_ intimate with the Mudblood. She's a blood traitor. You should know, Andy, that the Dark Lord won't abide such things."

"No, I know he won't," Andromeda sneered. "And you worship him like a god, like a king. He's nothing but a petulant little child who's managed to -"

" _Silencio!_ " Bellatrix whipped her wand out and aimed it at her sister, and Andromeda swallowed her words as a look of shock came over her face. Bellatrix's mother and sister looked hurt, betrayed, and alarmed. Bellatrix kept her wand aimed at Andromeda and said, "Why don't you go trotting off to Albus Dumbledore, Andy? I don't think I want you here for the rest of this conversation."

Andromeda was still Silenced by Bellatrix's spell, but she looked desperately to her mother. Druella was shaking a little, and she said to her middle daughter,

"Go, Andromeda. If we want you back, we'll write to you. If what Bellatrix is saying is true, then… there can be no place for you among us. I've suspected, but I didn't want… didn't want to believe it…"

Druella brought her napkin to her eyes and daubed away a few tears. Andromeda scowled and rose to her feet, still Silenced, and she yanked her traveling cloak from the rack in the corner. She'd just graduated Hogwarts and had gotten her own tiny flat in London. She'd go there, Bellatrix thought. Finally, once Andromeda had gone, Bellatrix lowered her wand, and pretty little Narcissa said mournfully,

"She can't have gotten involved with that Tonks boy. It can't be true."

"The Dark Lord says it is," Bellatrix insisted, "and I trust him with all that I am. In fact, Mummy, that's why I've come today. I need to tell you both… and I suppose Father would have found out soon enough at a meeting, but… I am getting married."

"Again? So soon after Dolph's gone?" Narcissa seemed utterly taken aback, and Bellatrix glared.

"My marriage to Rodolphus had already been replaced by a far more important relationship. I mourn my husband, but now it is time to solemnise and formalise something that already existed. I am marrying Lord Voldemort."

Druella looked like she was going to topple straight from her chair, and she swigged hard from her glass of orange juice. Narcissa pressed her palms to her cheeks in surprise, and then she finally squeaked,

"Congratulations, Bella."

"Thanks, Cissy." Bellatrix flashed a little smile to Narcissa and said, "I'll need an attendant. I only want one; this ceremony is going to be quite serious, quite weighty and intense and sacred. I shall need you to be dutiful in attending me as a bride. Can you do it?"

Narcissa nodded, very eagerly at first, and then she tempered herself and murmured, "I'll do whatever you and the Dark Lord need of me, Bella."

"Thank you, Cissy," Bellatrix said again, turning her attention to her mother, who seemed to have caught her breath. Druella was crying quietly, and she smiled a little as she noted,

"My middle daughter just confirmed that she is doing everything she can to shame this family. But my elder daughter has more than soothed that wound. I am so proud of you, Bellatrix. What glory you bring to the House of Black."

"This has nothing to do with my glory," Bellatrix corrected her, "and everything to do with his."

"Yes, of course," Druella nodded. She smiled a bit then and said, "We'll have to get someone from Twillfit and Tattings here as soon as possible to take measurements."

* * *

"My friends." Voldemort glanced around the assembled Death Eaters and held his hands up a little. "Here we are, together at last after so very long spent scattered and then mourning our fallen soldiers. But we are ascending, my friends. When the  _Daily Prophet_  dares write of us, they note our strength. They note my power. They speak of us in hushed tones. I have received twenty-nine letters in the past week asking to join my ranks as a foot soldier or Death Eater. Mulciber, Avery, Yaxley, and Nott are about to begin a mission to bring the giants to our side. Rookwood continues to infiltrate every corner of the Ministry with my spies and plants. My friends… breathe in this victorious time and savour its flavour in your lungs."

Everyone at the table looked exceedingly pleased then. Voldemort made eye contact with a few of his most loyal and able followers. Then he folded his hands on the heavy table and said simply,

"At this point of my career, I feel it is appropriate that I should take a wife."

He waited for the buzz of surprise to dissipate, and then he continued,

"Of course, an ordinary witch will not do. I have neither the patience nor the desire to debase myself by wedding a witch of average skill or wit. I require a spouse who will make a noble and elegant consort whilst still serving me ably. And there is only one witch who fits such a void."

He turned his eyes to Bellatrix, who look at once proud and anxious where she sat beside him. He watched her force her chin up, watched her eyes harden, and he smiled a little.

"Bella," he said softly. Then he turned his eyes to the table, reading the expressions of awe and bewilderment. Voldemort said clearly, "Rodolphus Lestrange died a hero for this cause. He died for me. And I promise to take exceptionally good care of his widow, though of course she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself."

Many around the table, including Cygnus Black III and Rabastan Lestrange, looked almost emotional then, almost overwhelmed. Voldemort huffed a breath and said,

"You'll all be receiving invitations shortly. The wedding will occur here at Malfoy Manor in early August. Until the wedding, you may refer to my fiancée as 'Madam Black'; thereafter you will refer to her as 'The Dark Lady.' Are there any questions?"

Bellatrix looked very surprised by that last announcement, but Voldemort kept his face steady and nodded.

"Dismissed."

He made his way to his office after the meeting, Bellatrix walking quietly beside him. He ushered her into the office and sat at his desk, watching her sink into the chair opposite him.

"That went well," he said crisply. Bellatrix nodded in agreement, but she seemed to be hesitating about something. When Voldemort frowned, she said,

"My Lord, I worry, now that I'm to be your wife, about the fact that I am not an Occlumens. Albus Dumbledore is among the most accomplished Legilimens in the world. Though I would, of course, commit suicide quickly if I were able in order to avoid being captured, I am concerned about what would happen if they did manage to catch me. There is much in my mind, I think, that you would rather they not see. Your enemies."

"Oh, Bella." Voldemort smirked a bit. "How exceedingly practical you are. Yes, you're right. Of course you ought to learn Occlumency. It is a very difficult skill to master; it'll take weeks at minimum. We'll practise a bit every day."

"Can we begin now?" Bellatrix curled her fingers around the arms of her chair, and Voldemort laughed a little at her enthusiasm. He sighed heavily, trying to think of how best to describe quick, efficient mental blocking. Memory replacement or diversion tactics could come later; first she needed to learn to erase what the Legilimens was seeking from view. Finally Voldemort said,

"I want you to imagine somewhere infinitely more impenetrable than Azkaban. The sort of place one simply can't reach, no matter how hard they try. Don't tell me about it. Just shut your eyes and think of somewhere unreachable, somewhere unattainable."

He watched her eyes shut, watched her breathe for a long moment, and finally she nodded and whispered, "I've got it."

Voldemort waited for her to open her eyes, and then he gave her a serious look and murmured, " _Legilimens._ "

' _Don't you understand, Andy? He's going to be everything. He's going to rule over us all, and I mean to follow him when he does. I just want to serve him.'_

' _So you want to be a slave,' Andromeda scoffed, shaking her head at her sister across the compartment where they were sitting on the Hogwarts Express. 'You're being pathetic, Bella.'_

' _Pathetic?' Bellatrix leaned forward and hissed the word, shaking her head vehemently. 'Someday you'll realise, Andy, just how silly this world -'_

_There was a sudden blackness, velvet and heavy, that snuffed out the image of the Hogwarts Express. Voldemort could see a single candle hovering in the corner of what seemed to be a very dark place, and he was somehow aware that he was in a windowless, doorless room hundreds of metres underground. There was no way in or out of here, he could tell. He looked around, reaching in the inky dark of Bellatrix's mind. Nothing. He searched for the memory of the train, trying to extract it from the flame on the table. He couldn't find it. It was gone._

Voldemort pulled himself out of Bellatrix's mind, blinking in shock. His breath shook over his parted lips as Bellatrix grinned and clapped her hands.

"I did it! Didn't I? That wasn't too bad for a first attempt, was it, Master?"

"Bellatrix." His voice was barely audible then as he demanded, "How did you do that?"

Her grin faded a little, and she laughed nervously and shrugged. "I just did what you said to do, Master. I built a little tiny room somewhere deep beneath the Earth, somewhere I couldn't even place. No windows, no doors, no tunnels or paths. It's just… there. Somewhere underground. It took me a long moment once you pulled the memory of the train, but then I just sort of… put us there. In that little room."

Voldemort's eyes burned for some reason, and he shook his head in disbelief. He was the most powerful Legilimens in the world, and Bellatrix had kept him out like it was nothing, on her first ever attempt of Occlumency. She was gifted with this, he thought. Profoundly gifted.

"My Lord, are you angry?" Bellatrix asked in an anxious, tremulous voice, and Voldemort shook his head no.

"I am proud," he assured her, finding her eyes and locking their gazes like they always did. "I meant what I told them in that meeting. You're the only one I could even begin to consider marrying, Bellatrix, because you are not ordinary. You are not average. You are not like them, like the rest of them. You're… different. Special. But, then, I've known you were a bit unique ever since your Aunt Leontia's wedding."

"My Aunt Leontia?" Bellatrix looked confused. "I was probably… seven? I remember that wedding a little bit. Why did you notice me there, Master?"

"I was just a lowly guest as a gathering of elite Purebloods," Voldemort noted, "but many were interested in what I had to say. Halfway through a conversation with Abraxas Malfoy, I saw a little girl walking straight toward the table of filled Champagne glasses."

Bellatrix looked embarrassed but grinned and asked, "Why do I feel like I know where this is going?"

Voldemort chuckled as he remembered her springy curls, bursting from her little head. She was in black; most of the other little girls had worn floofy pastel concoctions, but Bellatrix Black had come in a black gown that looked like a miniature of something her mother might wear. And she'd gone striding straight up to the Champagne.

"You had absolutely no fear. No shame," Voldemort said quietly. "You didn't even look around to see if anyone was watching you."  
"I probably didn't care," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort shook his head.

"No, I don't suppose you much cared. You snatched one of those glasses, and I have never in my life seen anyone down Champagne that quickly. You'd drunk it all by the time your father came rushing over. He slapped you clear across the face, right there in front of everyone. He meant to punish you, but you… you  _laughed_."

"I think I remember this," Bellatrix admitted, "but I such an ill-behaved child that it sort of blends into other times I got punished for one thing or another."

"But it's one of the things I like best about you," Voldemort told her. "Your lack of… good behaviour. And it's stuck with me for years. It's how I knew you'd never have boundaries in your service of me. Stalking straight up to the Champagne, chugging it, laughing at your father's slap. In those two minutes, I saw for myself just what sort of witch Bellatrix Black was going to grow up to be. You're exceedingly talented with Occlumency. You ought to know that what you did today is not normal. Nothing about you is normal."

"How very thankful I am to have been found by someone who cherishes those abnormalities," Bellatrix said softly. "Someone who makes good use of them."

They stared at one another for a very long moment. It could have been ten seconds or ten minutes, though it was probably somewhere in between. He started to drown in the deep, smooth cocoa of her eyes, and finally he reached for a sealed scroll on the right side of his desk. He gulped and passed it over.

"This came for you this morning by owl. From Twillfit and Tattings."

Bellatrix grinned again as she took the scroll. She broke the seal and opened it, and she read aloud,

" _Esteemed Madam: Enclosed please find preliminary renderings of the wedding gown we have proposed based on your stylistic preferences and the measurements taken by our tailor. If you would be so kind as to write back with your approval, we shall begin crafting the gown and make alterations and style shifts as needed and desired._ It looks fantastic! I adore it."

Bellatrix looked peaceful and happy then as her eyes scanned over the drawings on the parchment.

"I don't suppose I'm meant to see your gown ahead of time," Voldemort said, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Bellatrix rolled up the scroll and winked at him.

"You could always just look into my mind for it."

"Apparently not," he said, throwing up his eyebrows. "And, anyway, I'd rather wait. I'd rather be surprised and see you in it on the day I make you mine."

"Oh, Master." Bellatrix shook her head and lowered her face, letting her curls fall a little as she brushed her fingers over the scroll. "I'm already yours. Entirely yours."

Voldemort wanted nothing more than to kiss her then, to take her on his desk like he'd done the first time he'd had her body. But he said in a rather sorrowful voice,

"I've a meeting with the team pursuing the giants' loyalty. It starts in five minutes."

Bellatrix nodded and held up the scroll. "I ought to go show my mother."

Voldemort nodded. "See you tonight, then."

Bellatrix rose and gave him a lovely little smile before walking quickly from his office. As soon as she'd gone, Voldemort felt the sting of her absence, and he resolved to kiss every inch of her that night.

**Author's Note: Anyone taste some mutually worshipful lemonade coming up? Mwah hahaha. As always, thanks for reading and please do review. Thanks!**


	20. Chapter 20

"Bella."

She blinked her eyes open and started to push herself up to sit, but Voldemort immediately pushed her shoulders back down. His mouth was on hers before Bellatrix could even gasp in surprise. She felt him crawl up atop her, felt the weight of him settle over her, and she moaned a little. Finally he pulled away enough to say,

"I had to go to Bournemouth to… clean up a little mess. Sorry it's late."

"A mess?" Bellatrix pushed his greying hair away from where it had slipped down onto his brows. "What sort of mess, Master?"

He looked rather amused with himself all of a sudden. "Sariah Jenkins lives in Bournemouth."

"Sariah… Eugenia Jenkins' sister?' Bellatrix blinked through the darkness, and Voldemort nodded.

"Yes. The witch had decided it was wise to give an interview to the  _Prophet_  supporting her sister. The Minister is being unjustly criticised, Sariah said, especially in light of the fact that Lord Voldemort is a particularly evil man."

Bellatrix smirked. "So, did you show her just exactly how evil you can be, My Lord?"

"Mmm-hmm." He bent to put his lips to Bellatrix's neck. She knew then that he'd killed Sariah Jenkins, and for some reason the idea sent a shock of want straight between her thighs. She let out a heavy breath as his mouth moved more urgently against her neck. She massaged his scalp with her fingernails and arched her back a little until her body pressed against him.

He started to pull his lips down, over her collarbone and along the swell of her breast. He latched his mouth onto her through the thin material of her nightgown, and she gasped when he nibbled rather roughly at her nipple. His hands worked to pull the blankets down, to hike up her nightgown, and then he shoved his hand between her legs. Bellatrix giggled a little at the wide-eyed look he gave her as he whispered,

"No knickers. Naughty little creature."

"I was rather hoping to give you easy access, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled, and he looked quite pleased with her as he said,

"Good, because I do require… access."

Suddenly he was shoving her legs around, bending her knees and arranging himself between her thighs, and Bellatrix found herself squirming and asking in confusion,

"Wh-What are you doing?"

It almost seemed as though he meant to put his face there, between her legs. He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows.

"What does it look like I'm doing, Bella?"

"I… I didn't realise people actually… I thought that was just a myth." Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot with embarrassment. Rodolphus had never, ever done anything like this to her. She squirmed again, and Voldemort let out a low rumble of a laugh that sent a shiver up her spine.

"I assure you there is nothing mythical about what I'm about to do to you." He dragged his thin fingertips up the insides of her thighs and tipped his head. "Divine? Perhaps. Transcendental? I hope so. But mythical? Imaginary? Oh, no."

Before Bellatrix could answer him, he'd dipped his head as if diving underwater. He vanished between her thighs, his hands gliding up her skin and holding fast to her hips. Bellatrix cried out the moment his lips made contact with her womanhood. At first he just dragged his bottom lip around, caressing and exploring the outside of her entrance. Then she felt something heavy and wet and firm - the drag of his tongue. Bottom to top, then a little suckle on her nub. He repeated that a few times, and then he stopped and went back to the agonisingly gently kiss of his lips.

"Mmph… no!" Bellatrix snarled her fingers in his hair and drove her head back against the pillow. She growled in frustration as his laughter vibrated onto her flesh. He went back to using his tongue then, but this time he added the variation of an occasional dip inside of her, a hook and a harder suck here and there. Soon enough he'd settled on a steady, constant rhythm of a flat, firm lick punctuated by attention to her clit. It was so much. Too much. Just right.

"Master." Bellatrix could only whisper the word. She knew she was pulling at his hair, that she was being too rough with him there, but she couldn't help it. His fingers cinched on her hips, and Bellatrix found herself groaning as her stomach flopped and her veins went hot. Her ears began to ring, and she couldn't wrench her eyes open. Suddenly she heard herself begging him, "Don't stop. Don't stop.  _Please_  just keep… just… don't stop…"

He did as she requested. A solid, long lick and then a rather insistent pull of her clit between his lips. He just kept going, kept doing the exact same motion over and over, and Bellatrix felt everything snap like a violin string wound too tightly.

She keened out wordlessly, bucking her hips so hard against his face that he let out a muffled groan halfway between protest and satisfaction. She could feel herself clamping hard, her walls cinching erratically against the push of his tongue and lips. His hands tightened so hard on her hips that she whimpered for mercy. She had no time to recover from her climax before Voldemort had emerged from between her legs and pressed the tip of his cock to her entrance.

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered desperately. "Yes. Take me, claim me, fill me,  _fuck_  me…"

"Bellatrix." Her name came like a purr from his lips, slick and pearlescent from her fluids. He drove himself into her so viciously then that Bellatrix shrieked, squeezing as hard as she could on his forearms. She writhed beneath him, her eyes fluttering shut as he invaded her. Thick, so very thick… she could hardly believe how full she felt, the way he stretched and pushed at her in every conceivable way.

"Harder," she heard herself whisper, for he was scarcely moving his hips at all. Suddenly his wet lips were on her cheek, kissing her there as he quickened his hips and deepened his thrusts. She couldn't take it; she couldn't bear the enormity of him, and yet she murmured again, "Harder, My Lord."

"Oh, you good girl." He kept his lips on her cheek and started to properly rut her, his hips snapping back and forth in machine-like movements that abruptly filled and emptied Bellatrix. She burrowed her fingers in his hair and whimpered helplessly, her body rocking against the pillows and dragging on the sheets. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and felt her master go tight and hard above her and inside of her.

She was going to marry him, she realised as his come filled her, as he groaned and twitched and panted. This terrible Dark wizard, this great leader, this genius of unfathomable power… she was going to marry him. She would be his forever. Her eyes went to the ring on her left hand, the one he'd crafted himself and put upon her.

A few minutes later, he'd Scoured and Siphoned until they were both sufficiently clean, and then he lay on his back and urged Bellatrix to curl up beside him.

"Bella," he whispered after a long while, "Tonight I extracted a great deal of information about Eugenia Jenkins from her sister's mind. The intelligence will be invaluable.  _Legilimens._ "

He'd given her no warning at all, and she knew why. Albus Dumbledore wouldn't count down for her before charging into her mind. If the Minister of Magic could have her sister interrogated and killed, then Lord Voldemort's wife could easily face the same fate. It was imperative that her mind be impenetrable.

Before he could pluck even the slightest glimmer of a memory or idea from her head, Bellatrix erased the world she knew. She put her head into the tiny dark room she'd invented. She stared at the flickering candle floating in the corner. They were somewhere very deep underground, somewhere unreachable, somewhere that couldn't be found. Her mind was gone; it could not be searched. She felt Voldemort wrench himself from her consciousness, and when she turned her face to look up at him, he nodded and said very seriously,

"Good girl, Bellatrix. Get some sleep."

* * *

**Author's Note: Oh, poor Bella… she thought cunnilingus was a myth. Mwah hahaha. Now prepare for some fluff n' stuff, because the next chapter involves The Black Family Ladies' Wedding Planning Brunch. Thanks as always for reading - Fifty points to your House if you review. :)**


	21. Chapter 21

"And have you finalised the menu? The House-Elves will need enough lead time to do it properly for a group that large." Druella Black gave her daughter an inquisitive look, and Bellatrix opened the leather folio on the desk before her. She'd been granted a small office to use for wedding planning, where she'd been receiving vendors and the orchestra conductor and a little swarm of House-Elves. Today she was showing off all her plans to her mother.

"Well," Bellatrix said, hearing her voice shake a little, for all of this was starting to give her unexpected anxiety, "I gave Dobby the menu today. There will be fifteen House-Elves preparing and serving the meal. The first course will be poached oysters. Then a warm quail salad, medallions of fallow deer, and of course the cake. That, by the way, will be five square tiers in elegant white frosting. Nothing too gaudy. There will be a Champagne toast with Elf-made wines available. Dobby assures me that the House-Elves are up to the task."

"I'm sure they are, dear," Druella nodded. "The wretched little creatures are terribly good at food preparation. When's your final fitting with Twillfit and Tattings?"

"Just had it today." Bellatrix gulped hard. There were only a few days left before the wedding. Today, a team of three seamstress witches had come to Malfoy Manor bearing Bellatrix's elaborate gown to make final adjustments. It had been decided that, as a recently widowed witch who had already had a white wedding gown, Bellatrix would wear black. Her gown was a long-sleeved silk creation with a deep V neckline, shining black with silver and copper metallic embroidery and heavy crystal embellishments. She would also be wearing a cape - in matching embroidered black silk - that clasped at her neck and trailed heavily behind her. In lieu of a veil, she'd be wearing a tiara specially made for her by the German wizarding jewellers Gelden and Schmuck. Commissioned by the Dark Lord himself, it was an elegant sweep of rose gold adorned with teardrop black pearls and diamonds. As with her engagement ring, the tiara had the Dark Mark incorporated into the design.

"And the orchestra is prepared," Druella reminded Bellatrix. "The seating arrangement is finished. Your flowers will be Conjured the day of?"

"The Dark Lord wishes to make my bouquet himself," Bellatrix said, and then her stomach pulled a little as she remembered how inept poor Rodolphus had been with Conjuring flowers. Druella reached across the desk and squeezed at Bellatrix's hand. She felt the tremble in her eldest daughter's fingers, and then she reached into the little drawstring bag she'd brought. She pulled out a glass bottle and held it out to Bellatrix.

"It is entirely normal to be very nervous before a wedding, dear, as you well know," Druella said, "but when you're marrying the most important wizard in the world, the anxiety must be almost unbearable. I've brought you some Draught of Peace. A drop here and there wouldn't go amiss. Just enough to keep your wits about you."

"Thanks, Mummy." Bellatrix nodded and opened the bottle, using the glass dropper inside to put a bit of the potion on her tongue. She sighed and asked, "Have you heard from Andy?"

Druella pinched her lips and shook her head, her dark eyes welling suddenly. "No, Bella, and we shan't be speaking of Andromeda anymore. You just focus on your wedding, darling."

"All right. Well. I am sorry about… her. About what she's done. Tell Cissy I'll see her in a few days."

Druella rose from her chair and nodded, a little smile crossing her thin lips as she murmured, "We are so very, very proud of you, Bellatrix. Much of your life has been troubled. Angry. But I do think you have at last found a home for your soul. Do you know… your father and I were in school with him. We were in Slytherin with him; he was a few years older than us. Back when he was someone else."

"When he was Tom Riddle," Bellatrix nodded, the Draught of Peace starting to settle into her veins. Druella's cheeks coloured, and she seemed vaguely frightened as she whispered,

"We all knew he'd do great things, that he would become… extraordinary."

"And he has," Bellatrix said contentedly. Druella nodded.

"He has. And he'll be even greater day by day. And you'll be at his side, so we couldn't be prouder of you. Everything will be lovely, Bellatrix. I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Mummy. Thanks for the potion." Bellatrix watched her mother go. When she opened the door, Druella gasped a little and dipped into a low curtsy.

"My Lord," she murmured. "We were just discussing the details for the wedding. I was just going."

"You're welcome to stay, Madam Black," Bellatrix heard Voldemort say lightly, but Druella laughed nervously and bid the Dark Lord farewell as she walked by him. Voldemort came walking into the office then, and as he shut the door, Bellatrix noted,

"You look very tired, My Lord."

"And you sound rather drugged," he countered. He sat in the chair where Druella had been and picked up the bottle of Draught of Peace. He frowned a little, and Bellatrix explained in an embarrassed voice,

"I'm anxious, Master. About the wedding. My mother brought me Draught of Peace to calm my frayed nerves. That's all."

"You're anxious?" He seemed confused. "What could possibly be making you anxious?"

She scoffed a little and rattled off, "Deciding upon a menu and arranging for it to be prepared by House-Elves, finding and hiring the right orchestra, selecting decorations and having them made and waiting, getting my gown designed and fitted, worrying about… about…"

She stopped then, for the Draught of Peace was really sinking in, and she couldn't quite recall why she'd been so worried, after all. She furrowed her brows and shrugged.

"Anyway, it's all ready, and I am sincerely looking forward to it."

Voldemort smirked and pushed the glass bottle toward her. "Take one more drop. You're a mess."

"I'm sorry." Bellatrix opened the bottle and put a single drop on her tongue. Voldemort let out a very long breath opposite her and said,

"If I still seem tired, it's because I'm worried that taking any more Invigoration Draught will give me a heart attack or something. I took half a bottle earlier, and I still feel like I could sleep for days."

"Why?" Bellatrix knew that she dropped her honorifics with him when she took Draught of Peace. She couldn't be bothered with them for some reason. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and said,

"There's something I ought to tell you. Well… I really ought  _not_  to tell you, but I want to tell you, so I will."

"All right." Bellatrix nodded eagerly and leaned toward him a little. Voldemort cleared his throat and asked,

"Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?"

Bellatrix felt a little quiver of distant unease, but the Draught of Peace was masking most of her discomfort with what he'd mentioned.

"I've read a little about them in books on the Dark Arts," she said cautiously. "They aren't real, are they?"

"Mine are real," Voldemort said quietly. "I've made several of them. I will not be taken down by a stray Killing Curse, you understand."

Bellatrix felt her eyes go wide, and she nodded. "You could live forever."

"That's the idea." Voldemort tipped his head and studied her face for a long moment, and then he seemed to blurt against his will, "One of them is guarded by Inferi… of my own creation."

"Oh. So, that day that you said you killed sixteen people… are they guarding your Horcrux now, Master?" Bellatrix's voice sounded distant and almost euphoric even to her own ears. Voldemort licked his bottom lip and nodded.

"I'm only telling you this because you're a powerful Occlumens. And… because I love you, and I want to be able to protect you."

"So you're going to make me an Inferius?" Bellatrix felt a little dizzy, and Voldemort frowned as he shook his head firmly.

"We'll discuss it when you're clear-headed," he said. "Or perhaps we won't. In any case, I'm tired because I derailed a Muggle train earlier today and used fourteen bodies from the chaos to create more Inferi. It's exhausting."

Bellatrix just nodded and drummed her fingers on the desk. She imagined him standing beside train tracks, shoving the train until it toppled over, combing through the mess to find his victims. She smiled just a little and murmured in a dreamy tone,

"Poached oysters. Warm quail salad. Medallions of fallow deer. And then cake."

"That sounds perfect." Voldemort held his fist up to his mouth to stifle a yawn, and he admitted, "I need to go sleep."

"Me, too." Bellatrix blinked slowly, feeling more than a little drowsy. She watched Voldemort reach for the bottle of Draught of Peace, and he tucked it into his robes as he rose from his chair. He walked around the desk and held his hand out to Bellatrix. She stared up at him, her breath steady and slow as his arms threaded round her shoulders.

"You're very beautiful," he noted thoughtfully, and thought it was an utter non sequitur, Bellatrix told him,

"I suppose I never considered that you went to school with my parents."

He frowned deeply and cleared his throat a bit. "No, Tom Riddle went to school with your parents."

"Ah. Yes. It's as though… you stayed in the same body, but your soul became someone else." Bellatrix shut her eyes and let him hold her up, and he insisted,

"I am not the boy your parents knew when we were all young and foolish."

"Am I young and foolish?" Bellatrix asked, and she felt Voldemort kiss the top her head as he said quietly,

"No. You are young and vicious. Young and intelligent, and beautiful, and witty, and astonishingly Dark. You're no fool, young or otherwise."

"You want me to make a Horcrux," Bellatrix said against the robes that covered his chest, flattening her palms on him. "You don't want me to be taken down by a stray Killing Curse, either."

There was a very long silence then, and finally Voldemort mumbled again,

"We'll discuss it when you're clear-headed."

"I'm going to wear my curls down at the wedding," Bellatrix whispered. When he didn't answer, she raised her bleary eyes to his and saw a level of emotion she'd never perceived in his gaze. He nodded a little and said the exact same thing he'd told her all those many months earlier at the Malfoy Christmas party.

"You've grown into your hair, and I like it down."

"I know." Bellatrix leaned her forehead against his chest and sighed. Then she breathed in the warm, masculine feel of him, and she said quietly, "I don't need a Horcrux; I'd die a thousand deaths for you, Master. I'll only be allowed to die once for you, I know, but I'll gladly do it."

"You won't," Voldemort countered, "because I find myself quite unwilling to accept such a notion. I'm going to bind myself to you, and I'm going to use the word  _forever_ , Bellatrix, and I'm going to mean it. I derailed a train today because protecting my own immortality is of vital priority. You think I mean to simply let you fall in battle or be assassinated?"

Bellatrix didn't have a good answer for that. She felt Voldemort sigh above her, and then he kissed her hair again, and he said gently,

"We could both use a solid block of sleep. Let's go upstairs to bed, eh?"

Bellatrix nodded, letting him snare his fingers through hers and lead her slowly from the little makeshift office.

**Author's Note: A quiet little chapter before the drama of the wedding and revisiting the concept of Horcruxes. At this point in the story, I could either wrap it up soon after the wedding, or I could take them down a longer, winding storyline involving a Horcrux for Bellatrix, more battles and political machinations, and some deeper personal problems for both Bellatrix and Voldemort. Basically, this story could end at around 50,000 words or around 100,000 words. If you feel strongly one way or the other, please let me know. I'm willing and able to take it much further and go deeper with the plot, but only if people are genuinely interested in reading it. Thanks so much.**


	22. Chapter 22

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out._

Voldemort had to actually tell his body what to do, because otherwise he would have simply lost consciousness. It was impossible to breathe, to think clearly, when she was walking toward him down the centre of the ballroom looking the way she did.

She was resplendent, almost supernaturally beautiful. Black embroidered silk hugged her little body, an elaborate cape as her train. Her hands clutched the bouquet of cream roses and stephanotis and black pearls that he'd Conjured for her. Atop her silky curls was her new tiara, the one that signaled she was the Dark Lady now.

The orchestra played a swelling sort of march as Bellatrix approached Voldemort. She was unaccompanied, for they'd determined it was inappropriate to have her given away. Voldemort did not need her father's permission or blessing. Narcissa walked slowly behind her elder sister, clad in a much simpler, solemn black gown with her blond hair tied up tightly. She helped Bellatrix arrange her trailing cape in an elegant way as the hired photographer snapped a few shots. Then Narcissa took Bellatrix's flowers and stood beside Druella Black in the front row of seats.

Bellatrix smiled just a little at Voldemort as the orchestra finished playing the processional. He nodded down to her, unwilling to look weak and maudlin before his followers. Once the last strains of the heavy march ended, Voldemort turned toward those who had assembled. He would be officiating his own wedding, for it would not do to have anyone else seem in charge of this event.

"My friends," he said in his usual slippery tone, "I extend to you all my gratitude for your presence on this most important and momentous day. Today, your lord and master is joined by a witch of impressive skill and amiable countenance. Today, Bellatrix Black Lestrange becomes your Dark Lady."

There was a little round of applause then, and Voldemort studied the faces before him. Awe, he could see. Envy. Fear. Admiration. He took a moment to absorb it, and then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the little rose gold band he'd made for Bellatrix. He nodded to her, and she looked so serenely calm then that he knew she'd taken Draught of Peace again. He could scarcely blame her; he rather wished he'd done the same. Bellatrix spoke then in a clear, loud voice.

"My Lord. Master. Most fearsome and beloved Lord Voldemort. Today I give myself to you in my entirety - my mind, my body, and my soul are yours from this day until the end of time. I swear sincerely to honour and worship you as your servant and wife, to be a faithful and adoring companion, and to always fight for you and your cause. I beg you to place upon my finger now a ring which claims me for your own. May our magic unite and grant us a long and happy union."

She held out her left hand, and Voldemort smirked down at her. She wasn't shaking. Not one bit. Yes, he thought. She'd dosed herself heavily with a calming potion. He slid her rose gold band onto her finger and whispered,

" _Uxori Mea Perpetua._ "

He felt the vibration of her being bonded to him, the thud of her pulse in his own veins for a moment as magic made her his wife. His smirk grew a little as he reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out the heavy titanium band he'd made for himself. He gave it to Bellatrix, and he kept his eyes locked on hers as he said in an almost threatening voice for all to hear,

"Bellatrix, member of the most noble and ancient House of Black. Soldier and servant, most cherished ally. Today I become your husband in my entirety - my mind, my body, and my soul - from this day until the end of time. I swear sincerely to protect and reward you as your lord and master, to be your faithful and appreciative husband. I command you to place upon my finger now a ring which binds me to your soul in marriage. May our magic unite and grant us a long and happy union."

Their vows had reflected their respective positions, for it would hardly make sense if Lord Voldemort stood before a crowd groveling about love, and Bellatrix must make her ongoing servitude clear. But she seemed enormously happy as she pushed his titanium band onto his finger and whispered,

" _Dominus Meus Perpetua._ "

He felt an almost overwhelming buzz then, the way his magic and hers swirled for a moment, drawing his soul against hers in a slightly violent crash. Bellatrix's eyes went wide as she clutched Voldemort's hand and stared up at him, and it took him a very long moment to tear his eyes from hers and rotate to face the crowd. He could still feel the bind taking hold, tightening and clutching at him, and he gave himself a moment to gather his breath and wits before he said,

"From this moment until the end of the world, I am your master. I am Lord Voldemort. And now beside me stands my wife in perpetuity, your remarkable Dark Lady Bellatrix."

There was more applause then, this time very enthusiastic. Voldemort flicked his eyes down to see Druella Black clutching Cygnus' arm and sobbing with elated tears. Narcissa Black was dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes. No one seemed to be thinking much about Rodolphus, not even his brother Rabastan. Edwina Fawley wasn't here; she'd wisely decided that her presence probably wasn't actually desired.

Voldemort and Bellatrix had a small table of their own on a platform, and just as the first course of poached oysters appeared, Cygnus Black rose from his chair. This had been approved ahead of time, but Cygnus still seemed terribly nervous as he raised his shaking flute of Champagne and addressed the other guests.

"I should like to propose a toast," Cygnus said, sounding very rehearsed. "To my eldest daughter Bellatrix - My Lady, what a phenomenal witch you have become. You bring honour upon the House of Black. To the Dark Lord - I beg you to cherish my daughter as she serves you in your marriage. May we all wish the Dark Lord and Lady a very long lifetime of bliss. To the Dark Lord and Lady!"

"To the Dark Lord and Lady!" everyone cried. Voldemort considered then what Cygnus had said. A long lifetime of bliss. He had no idea how long Lord Voldemort intended on living. Now Voldemort studied Bellatrix, who had removed her cape and sat beside him looking so pretty that it hurt, and he cleared his throat a little as he whispered,

"I can't let you die."

She frowned at him as the guest began eating their poached oysters with leek cream sauce. Bellatrix carefully ate one for appearance's sake, and then as conversations started up along with quiet playing from the orchestra, she said,

"Master, I have no intention of dying any time soon. If I fall in battle, I -"

"You won't. I can't let that happen. You'll be making a Horcrux soon. I shall teach you the magic." Voldemort brought an oyster to his mouth and drank it out of its shell. Bellatrix seemed unfazed, and he scoffed quietly as he told her, "It was probably wise of you to take so much Draught of Peace. You're positively sedate."

"I didn't take any potion," Bellatrix said, and when he gave her a confused look, she shrugged a bit. "I'm just happy. The anxiety from planning… it all faded away as I started to get dressed, to do my hair and makeup. I realised… today is the best day of my life. And so I can not be nervous, My Lord."

She ate another oyster then, and Voldemort shut his eyes, thinking that he'd made the best decision in history when he'd sent Rodolphus Lestrange on a suicide mission. He glanced at Bellatrix's back, at the way her silk gown was cut into a low scoop there, and his stomach lurched with emotion.

"You wanted me to have my palm on your skin when we dance," he noted. Bellatrix smirked down at her empty plate of oysters, which was magically cleansed and then replaced by the appearance of quail salad. She poked her fork at her plate and appeared to be talking to her food as she said,

"I've always felt profound admiration for you, you know. I've had a desire to be your servant since I could conceptualise the idea. I've adored you for a very long time, My Lord. But I never felt…  _attraction_ … until you put your hand to my back at the Christmas party. It was like a shock, like a jolt of new magic. Nothing's been the same since you put your hand there. That little moment… it changed everything."

"For the better, I should hope." Voldemort dragged his fingertip around the rim of his Champagne, and Bellatrix nodded, finally turning her eyes to him.

"For the better, to be certain. I'm your wife now."

She grinned as she processed that knowledge, and he nodded as he added,

"You're their Dark Lady, too. And mine."

"I'm still just a soldier and servant." Bellatrix's cheeks coloured, but Voldemort squared his jaw and shook his head.

"No. You've been very much more than that for a long while now. Ever since… ever since I put my hand to your back at the Christmas party, Bella."

Her lips shook a little then, and he could tell she was trying not to cry. She brushed her thumb over her lip and then took a few rushed bites of quail salad. She looked around the ballroom, over toward the orchestra, and she whispered so that only he could hear,

"Is it difficult?"

Making a Horcrux, she meant. Voldemort cleared his throat softly, stabbing at the quail on his plate. He chewed a bite and washed it down with Champagne.

"You must kill someone first. Choose carefully, because you'll need to thieve some of their soul. You take some of their blood and some of your own, brew it into a potion with other ingredients, and you wind up living through a hellish sort of hallucination. A combination of your victim's worst memories and your own deepest trauma. Then you perform powerful, painful magic that splits your own soul and implants it into an object of your choice. It'll hurt worse than the most vicious Cruciatus, and for days you'll think you're dying, though of course you're securing your immortality. You'll vomit up blood; you'll shriek like mad, and all the while visions of torturous experiences will play over and over in your mind. When it's over, you must hide the object and cast all manner of protective enchantments. Then you'll need to rest, for at least a week or so, to give your body and mind the chance to recover."

Bellatrix was staring at him with eyes round as the moon, he realised. He turned his face to her and watched her ruby lips fall open a little. He expected her to protest, to say that she could never put herself through such an excruciating process just to avoid death. But he could read in her face that she'd accepted it, all of it, because he refused to let her die. So as their salads were replaced by medallions of fallow deer, she sipped at her Champagne and asked quietly,

"Will you be with me through it all, Master? Will you help me?"

"Of course I will," he answered firmly, picking up his knife and fork. "You know, Bellatrix, there has never been a more beautiful bride than you are today. And I very much look forward to touching your back when we dance."

**Author's Note: Yay! They're married! But raise your hand if you're absolutely terrified of what this Horcrux-making process is going to look like! It's definitely going to be a longer, more gruesome, more horrifying experience than the way I've written it in other stories, so… brace yourselves!**


	23. Chapter 23

"Slow down, Bellatrix; you're going to rip your gown."

"As if you wouldn't be able to repair it." Bellatrix heard the slur in her own voice as she yanked at the zip down her side and slithered from her black silk gown. She started tearing at the strapless, seamless undergarment she wore beneath, and then suddenly she stumbled. She felt Voldemort's arms lace around her, pulling her back up as she stepped from her black heels and murmured,

"Oh, it feels good to have those shoes off."

"You're drunk." He smiled a little as he said it, but even as Bellatrix shook her head in protest, her vision swam in a blur. Voldemort started sliding her knickers and bodice off, then crouched down to pull off her silk stockings, and he noted, "You had two flutes of Champagne and four glasses of elf-made wine. You're drunk."

"Sorry." Bellatrix laughed a little as he rose and started pulling off his own heavy velvet dress robes, and she said, "I started thinking about making a Horcrux, and every glass of wine just sort of… and I was so happy. Every dance was bliss, and I… mmph."

She stopped blathering on as his hand cupped her breast, as he stood shirtless before her and whispered,

"See if your fingers can still manage the buttons of my trousers, Bella."

"Yes, Master," she replied, her hands going between them. She fumbled a little, for he was dragging his thumb over her hard nipple and eliciting a hiss of want from her. Eventually she managed to shove his trousers and knickers down over his hips, and then he helped her by pushing them away and stepping aside. He started to push her toward the bed, and Bellatrix found herself lying on the brocade coverlet with her legs dangling over the edge.

"Bella," Voldemort said in a rather grave tone, bending down and grinding his huge length along her thigh, "this isn't going to last very long. I've been thinking about it all night, and I…"

She saw it then, the glittering black hunger in his eyes, the way his lips were quivering, the way his high cheekbones had gone pink. She rubbed at his arms as he braced himself over her, and she murmured gently,

"I'm yours. Your wife. This isn't an affair anymore. It's a marriage."

"Specifically, it is my marriage to you," Voldemort agreed, "and because of that, and because I've been wanting you all night, I'm warning you that this will last half a minute. I'm sorry; I'll take you again in the morning."

"You can take me five times a day for the next hundred years, if you like," Bellatrix grinned, and then she gasped, for her mouth was crushed beneath his. He kissed her so hard that she could hardly breathe; his tongue thrust almost angrily between her teeth and raked the roof of her mouth. He sucked so hard on her own tongue that she squealed in protest, and then she felt her thighs being roughly parted.

She screamed into his mouth, her fingers cinching on his biceps, for he'd driven himself into her entrance with hardly any warning. She was a little wet, but not enough to grant him easy admission, and it stung badly. She felt her eyes sear from the pain, and she knew Voldemort sensed her discomfort. He wrenched his mouth from hers and reached between them, muttering,

" _Lubrico Duo."_

TThere was a great flush of slick lubrication that transformed the sensation from sheer pain to intense pleasure. He started to rock his hips against Bellatrix, and she moaned wantonly at the feeling of him filling her so thoroughly. But after just a few thrusts, Voldemort stopped and growled,

"I ought to have taken some blasted Girding Potion. I can't…"

"My Lord." Bellatrix forced her eyes up to his, blinking through the haze of alcohol, and she reminded him, "My body is yours whenever you want it. There will be other times, countless times. Of what consequence is it if you finish too -"

" _Gaudens Maxima."_

She yelped in surprise as he performed another wandless spell, this one triggering a sudden orgasm that washed over Bellatrix like a wave on a stormy sea. She clutched helplessly at the brocade around her and let her eyes flutter shut against the hot, pulsing satisfaction. This had come out of nowhere, she thought distantly. Her body had hardly had time to become properly aroused. She'd wanted him, of course, but she'd only been partially awakened before he'd shoved her over the cliff. Still, it felt good, and she heard herself whispering nonsense as she stroked his arms and yanked her eyelids up.

"Thank you," she said finally, breathless, her chest heaving. Voldemort jerked his hips a few times and then stopped again, and his jaw went slack. A flush of scarlet webbed its way from his face down over his neck and chest, and he panted,

"Bloody hell, Bellatrix."

"I love you," she told him as his come pumped into her and seeped back out all over the blankets. She reached up for his greying hair and scratched gently at his scalp. "I love you, Master."

He nodded silently, shuddering as he bent to put his lips to hers. He stroked at her curls and whispered,

"I couldn't have had you much sooner than this, and yet I feel cheated."

"Cheated, Master?" Bellatrix sat up slowly as he reached for his wand and cleaned them both up. He went to the wardrobe and pulled out pyjamas for himself, tossing Bellatrix a pair of fresh knickers and a short nightgown. He nodded and started to pull on his pyjama trousers as he noted,

"Forty-five years, I had to live without you. It's an awfully long time to wait for a wife."

Bellatrix laughed a bit and pulled her nightgown over her head.

"You spent your time traveling and learning; I would have been in your way ten years ago, My Lord."

He scowled at her and buttoned up his pyjama shirt as he reminded her,

"You were a child ten years ago. As I said, it's really only now that I can have you. And I'm sure there's some reason I had to wait this long, some reason beyond our respective ages. In any case, it doesn't matter; you are mine now in a way absolutely no one can question. And, yes, Bella. You'll make a Horcrux, because now that I have you, I simply refuse to let anyone or anything steal you from me."

Bellatrix was dizzy as she pulled on the knickers he'd tossed her way. They didn't match the nightgown, but it didn't matter. A few moments later, Bellatrix was curled up against him in the bed, and she said quietly,

"I think the guests quite liked the food."

"I don't really care if they liked it," Voldemort admitted. "We could have served them gruel for all I care. Still, everything was perfectly understated, yet grand. Elegant. You planned it all perfectly."

"Thank you." Bellatrix stroked at his collarbone a little and then stared at her left hand. She remembered the spike of panic she'd felt when she'd Splinched half of her left hand. She remembered the way Voldemort had gone to fetch Rodolphus' rings from Bellatrix's severed fingers on a field in Wales. He'd done that because he loved her. He'd returned to a dangerous place and had wrenched another man's rings off of Bellatrix's bloodied, disembodied hand because he loved her. Then he'd Vanished those rings for the same reason.

"They're so beautiful," Bellatrix hummed. "My rings. They're so lovely."

There was rather a long silence, and then Bellatrix felt his hand press between her shoulder blades, and he said simply,

"You are My Lady now, Bella. Mine. And I do love you, in a manner that is very nearly pathetic."

Bellatrix tried not to laugh. She chomped hard against her bottom lip and then sighed deeply.

"Vivian Chenoweth."

"Who's that?" Voldemort asked, sounding a little bored. Bellatrix heaved herself up to sit and met Voldemort's eyes as he pushed her curls away from her face and cupped her jaw. He was so very handsome, she thought suddenly, and now he was her husband.

"Vivian Chenoweth was a Gryffindor at Hogwarts with me. She caught me hexing another Gryffindor that had annoyed me, and she turned me into Dumbledore for it. He examined my wand. It lost Slytherin forty points and I had to serve five Saturdays' detention. For the next three years, we loathed one another. She's a Mudblood, and she works for the Ministry now, in the Portkey Office."

Voldemort's hard features softened a little, and he nodded.

"For your Horcrux," he nodded, and Bellatrix just tried to keep breathing steadily. She felt more drunk than ever as she asked,

"May I use her? As… as the life to be taken?"

Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow and shrugged. "You could use some Muggle off the street, or your sister Andromeda, or this Vivian Chenoweth. The choice is entirely yours. She sounds like a rather convenient witch to have vanish, in any case. You canvass her work and living schedule, and we shall take care of all of this as quickly as possible. It will not be pleasant, but I shall stay with you through it."

Bellatrix covered his hand with hers and nodded. "You are my husband, Master."

He smirked. "So I am. And I don't suppose I've been more pleased about anything else in a very, very, _very_ long while. So come here, Bellatrix, and kiss your husband, will you?"

**Author's Note: Fair warning that the next chapter will contain quite a lot of violence, mental anguish, etc. as Bellatrix creates her Horcrux. As Voldemort warned her… it will not be pleasant. But I promise to at least try and make it exciting. ;) Thank you so very much for reading. Even if you're not usually the type to leave reviews, I'd be honored if you might spare a very quick moment just to let me know your thoughts on the story thus far. Thanks very much. :)**


	24. Chapter 24

Bellatrix drummed her fingers along the brick wall behind her. She was standing with her back flush to a small tailor's shop in London. Vivian Chenoweth lived in the flat above, she knew. She should be here any moment now; she'd be returning home from the Ministry of Magic. Her flat wasn't on the Floo Network. Bellatrix had had Rookwood check for her.

Sure enough, Vivian Chenoweth came ambling casually down the sidewalk, looking perfectly comfortable among the Muggles who surrounded her. Bellatrix aimed her wand at Vivian and cast a nonverbal Confundus Charm, watching Vivian tremble a little where she stood. Vivian frowned, and Bellatrix concentrated hard on convincing Vivian to approach the side of tailor's shop. Vivian came walking over with oddly smooth steps, and then she blinked in alarm when she saw Bellatrix.

"What are you doing here?" she asked uneasily. Bellatrix answered by hissing,

" _Expelliarmus._ " Almost instantly, Vivian's wand soared from its place hidden inside of the Mudblood's jacket. Bellatrix snatched the wand from the air and tucked it into her own tunic, and then she grabbed Vivian's elbow. She Disapparated, thinking with all the determination she could muster of Sollan Cottage on the Isle of Man.

The Dark Lord had gone there already. He had everything prepared - the Syrup of Hellbore and Lobalug Venom that Bellatrix would need to mix with her blood and VIvian's. He also had her mother's heirloom pewter medallion of Merlin, which had been in the Rosier family for three hundred years. That would be the vessel in which Bellatrix would encapsulate a part of her soul.

As she and Vivian Chenoweth landed hard on the rocky soil outside Sollan Cottage, Bellatrix tried to shove away the fear that had begun to course through her as she considered what she was doing. She mustn't question her master, her husband, on this matter. It was what he wanted her to do, what he needed her to do, and so she would do it without question or hesitation.

" _Imperio._ " Bellatrix jabbed her wand toward Vivian Chenoweth as the witches scrambled to their feet. Green smoke puffed from Bellatrix's wand and swirled round Vivian, a haze of coercion taking her over quickly. Bellatrix smirked and instructed her prisoner, "Follow me."

Vivian obeyed, walking with Bellatrix through the near-darkness toward the thatched-roof cottage. Bellatrix watched the door open, watched her lord smile at her as she approached, and he nodded once.

"Well done, then, Bella."

She felt his fingers graze from one shoulder to the other as she walked by him. Vivian Chenoweth was oddly calm as she followed Bellatrix into the sitting room. Bellatrix glanced to the leather sofa and commanded,

"Sit, Vivian."

Vivian sat.

"You and I have never exactly been friends, have we?" Bellatrix asked, pacing slowly before the sofa. Vivian shook her head, sending her honey brown waves swaying.

"No, we haven't."

"Well, no matter," Bellatrix said lightly, twirling her wand as though someone had materialised with wondrous news. She smiled a little at Vivian and suggested, "All feuds must end eventually, mustn't they? Ours ends today. Isn't that grand, Vivian?"

"Yes, it is," Vivian nodded, and Voldemort laughed a little from where he stood leaning against the wall. He tipped his head and instructed Bellatrix,

"Don't drag this out, Bella. You need your strength; holding her under an Imperius isn't going to help. Here's the bottle for her blood. You need to quickly sever a fingertip right after the Killing Curse; it's the easiest way to fill the bottle after the heart stops beating."

"Thank you, Master," Bellatrix purred, approaching him and taking the clear glass bottle he held out to her. He hesitated before removing his hand from hers, and he assured her,

"The other ingredients are boiling and waiting for the blood. Things will go quickly now. Are you certain you want… certain you'll obey me in this matter? This is serious."

"I know it is," Bellatrix nodded, plucking the bottle from his fingers. "I will always obey you, My Lord. Always.  _Avada Kedavra._ "

She turned with those last two words and jabbed her wand toward Vivian Chenoweth. The jade green of Bellatrix's Killing Curse burst like a firework, breaking on Vivian's body and singeing the leather on the sofa a little. Vivian crumpled to the side, unmoving in fresh death. Bellatrix hurried over and picked up Vivian's right hand, still warm and soft. She crouched down, holding Vivian's hand at the mouth of the glass bottle, and she dragged the tip of her wand along Vivian's index finger.

" _Diffindo_."

The tip of Vivian's finger, manicured fingernail and all, was severed and tumbled to the rug. Blood, no longer actively pumped by the witch's heart, dribbled lazily into the glass bottle. Bellatrix frowned and murmured,

" _Accio_ Blood of Vivian Chenoweth."

She had trouble then, for the blood began to gush and flow too freely as it drained from Vivian's veins, and Bellatrix was getting covered in it. It didn't matter to her; she filled the glass bottle easily and rose, muttering,

" _Finite Incantatem._ "

Voldemort glanced to Vivian and flicked his pale wand. " _Corpus Evanesco._ "

Bellatrix watched as Vivian's body Vanished, and then the Dark Lord Siphoned up the mess of blood. Bellatrix followed him into the bedroom, where a hammered copper cauldron sat on a table he'd set up. It was steaming a little, and as she approached it, Bellatrix began to feel very nervous again. Voldemort gave her a solemn look and asked,

"You remember the spells? Pour it slowly as you incant."

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix whispered. She cleared her throat and her eyes burned with terror as her stomach clenched. She drizzled some of Vivian's blood into the cauldron and said in the steadiest voice she could, " _Neco et mori. Vivo ego in aeternum._ "

The cauldron hissed angrily, and Bellatrix glanced up to Voldemort. He gave her a reassuring nod and prompted her,

"The last bit now. Good girl, Bella."

Bellatrix poured out the rest of Vivian's blood and said more firmly,

" _Ego divisit. Ego completum. Vivo ego in aeternum._ "

There was a wild flash of light, an almost blinding flare of white with a growling red outline. Bellatrix stepped quickly away from the potion, dropping the empty bottle that had held Vivian Chenoweth's blood. She stumbled a little, but Voldemort caught her. He held her in his arms from behind and guided her back up to the cauldron.

"Would you like me to cut you, or can you do it yourself?" he asked. By way of answer, Bellatrix held her left wrist above the cauldron and took a trembling breath. She dragged the tip of her own wand straight across the inside of her wrist and whispered,

" _Diffindo_."

Blood began to spill at once, gurgling forth as her pulse raced. Bellatrix hurried to incant in a voice hoarse from fear,

" _Neco et mori. Vivo ego in aeternum. Ego divisit. Ego completum. Vivo ego in aeternum._ "

She watched as more of her blood covered her arm, dripping in obscene rivers into the potion. It hissed and sparked and seemed to growl like a beast at her, as though the contents of the cauldron were alive. Bellatrix finally felt herself being pulled away, and Voldemort held her arm, using a dropper of Dittany to seal up the wound she'd put on herself. He quickly Siphoned up the blood from her skin and sleeve, and then he nodded down to her and assured her,

"You are doing well. When you drink the potion, you will feel… terrible things. I want you to remember, Bellatrix, to the best of your ability, that I will be here all the while. Try to remember where you are."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and recited what they'd rehearsed. " _I am on the Isle of Man with Lord Voldemort, my husband. I am making a Horcrux._ "

"Good. Now, go lie on the bed. Here… take this." Voldemort picked up the medal of Merlin from the table, and Bellatrix studied it again. She'd snuck it out of her mother's bedroom on her most recent visit home. The House-Elf would likely get blamed, if Druella ever noticed it was gone. It was heavy, dull silver with an old-fashioned engraving on the legendary wizard. Bellatrix held the medal in her left hand and pointed her wand at it, knowing it was crucial that she keep contact with the vessel into which she'd be pouring part of her soul.

" _Epoximise._ "

The medal was sealed to Bellatrix's palm as if she'd used powerful glue. She walked over the bed and moved to the middle, nibbling her lip as she set her wand on the bedside table. She kicked off her low boots and shoved them off the bed with her foot, watching as Voldemort used a silver ladle to spoon the terrible potion into what appeared to be a metal cup. Bellatrix gulped hard and asked,

"My Lord, will I be different afterwards?"

"I'm fine, aren't I?" He was still facing the potion. Once he finished ladling, he turned round and reminded her, "I've got five of these things, and I'm scarcely a monster. I'm a man, aren't I? I am myself still."

"You are not the boy who made the first one." Bellatrix was being disrespectful, she thought distantly. But Voldemort sighed heavily as he approached her, and he shrugged as he admitted,

"I don't exactly have a large sample size to know what happens to people who create Horcruxes, Bellatrix. I know that I can not lose you to a simple Killing Curse. I refuse to lose you like that. So… now it is time. Drink the potion. Say the final spells."

Bellatrix shut her eyes as she accepted the disgustingly warm metal cup of blood and other ingredients. It smelled like coins, and as Bellatrix breathed in the essence of it, she murmured once more,

" _Neco et mori. Vivo ego in aeternum. Ego divisit. Ego completum. Vivo ego in aeternum."_

Then she gulped down the potion, ignoring the distinct taste of iron from her own blood and Vivian's. She gagged as she swallowed, but she finally forced it all down and nearly threw the cup onto the bedside table. She lay back, shaking violently all of a sudden. She was having a seizure, she thought. Something was very wrong.

"Bellatrix. I am here," she could hear Voldemort say very firmly. She tried to open her eyes but couldn't. She was extraordinarily aware of her breath, all of a sudden. In and out, in and out. She could feel her lungs, every little bit of them. She could feel the air coming in and out. She could feel the valves and chambers of her heart. She could feel her blood in her veins. Then a vision began to materialise, to form behind her eyelids in a way that seemed more real by the second.

' _Give it back, Vivian!'_

' _No!' Vivian clutched her sister's teddy bear to her chest where she stood on the lawn, and she shook her head firmly. 'No. It's mine now. Finders keepers. Losers weepers.'_

' _You're terrible!' Andromeda stomped her foot and cried out, 'Mummy! Bella stole my teddy bear and won't give it back!'_

' _Vivian, get over here this instant.'_

_She turned round quickly to see her father storming towards her._

' _Give Andy the damned toy, Bella; you need to learn to share.'_

' _Vivian?'_

_She turned again, and now she was inside of a vast marble building. There was a plump man in a Muggle suit standing far away, and the little girl walked quickly toward him. But when she approached him, the plump man began to smirk in a terrible way._

' _You won't touch me anymore, Uncle Randall,' said Vivian. She blinked, and the face changed, and suddenly it was Lord Voldemort looking awfully confused._

_There was a mighty blast then, a huge explosion. Everything caught fire in the cramped little parlour where Vivian and her uncle - no, Bellatrix and Voldemort - had been standing. He was on fire. The man was on fire, burning to death._

' _Vivian, what have you done?' screamed a voice, and Bellatrix turned to see Voldemort giving her an approving nod through the flames._

' _Andy?' Bellatrix began running through the burning house, her fingers cinched around the arm of her sister's teddy bear. She looked in every room, even as timbers began crashing down. Somewhere behind her, people were talking about how very odd Vivian was, how very awful. She'd killed her uncle. It was an accident, Vivian's mother had said. It was arson, the doctor had replied, and the girl needed to live in a special place for troubled children._

' _Andy? Andromeda!' Bellatrix dashed straight into her sister's burning bedroom, and she found a body lying in a blackened crisp, a huddled dead form with Andromeda's face. Bellatrix dropped the teddy bear beside the burned corpse and whispered,_

' _You can have it back now.'_

_She shut her eyes against the feel of her father's punishment, the endless invisible whippings across her back meant to scold her for continuing to steal Andromeda's toys._

' _Your Uncle Randall is dead, Vivian,' said a voice as Bellatrix's father whipped and whipped at her. Bellatrix stared down at Andromeda's charred, blistered body, at the teddy bear that had caught fire. The woman's voice was crying as she said, 'We have to send you away, Vivian. Not because we don't love you, but because we must keep you safe. We must keep others safe. There's something wrong with you, Vivian…'_

' _There's something wrong with you, Bellatrix.'_

_She turned to see Andromeda standing in the vast marble space, a grown witch now, clutching the bear._

"I am on the Isle of Man," Bellatrix's voice said aloud all of a sudden. "I am on the Isle of Man with Lord Voldemort, my husband. I am… I am making…"

' _There's something very, very wrong with you, Bellatrix.'_

_Andromeda dropped the bear and walked away, and Vivian approached and picked it up. The bear started on fire in Vivian's hands, and suddenly the fire became real._

* * *

Had he been like this every time, Voldemort wondered?

He could hardly stand it, watching Bellatrix writhe and shriek in complete agony. He'd created an invisible cushion around her so that she wouldn't fling herself from the bed and break a limb. She was thrashing her head back and forth, her curls having become a tangled rat's nest an hour earlier. Her voice was almost gone now. She'd been screaming and sobbing for a very long time. When she'd started scratching anxiously at her face, Voldemort had sat on the bed and forced her to let him use his magic to blunt her fingernails. He'd thought about pinning her down, but he was nervous about interfering too much with the process.

She'd muttered things about teddy bears and fires, about her sister Andromeda, about being whipped, about an uncle. Voldemort wasn't sure what bits were Bellatrix's trauma and what bits had been Vivian's. It didn't matter. Her brain would be scarcely able to process the confusing mix of it all. Voldemort clearly remembered the way Myrtle Warren's memories of being bullied had swirled and mixed with his own awful recollections of the orphanage. He hadn't been sure by the end of it what he'd lived and what Myrtle had endured. It hadn't mattered; he'd wound up with his diary as a Horcrux.

And Bellatrix would conquer this, this excruciating pain and exhausting madness. She would have a medal of Merlin with part of her soul in it. That was what mattered. That was what counted.

He'd promised her he would hide it in a very safe place as soon as she was ready to rest. His intention was to take it to Little Hangleton, to put it in the Gaunt shack with the Horcrux he'd created from his family's ring. Their heirlooms, side by side, their souls protected and hidden… Voldemort let out a long, shaking breath at the thought.

Suddenly Bellatrix's back arched so hard that he heard a dreadful crack. Her body seemed to be partially levitating off the bed, though her hands and feet and head stayed glued down. Voldemort watched in wide-eyed wonder as the pewter medal in Bellatrix's left palm began to glow. It let out a bright white light, tinged with purple and red and then flickers of black. Bellatrix screamed so loudly that Voldemort nearly covered his ears.

It was utterly horrifying, even to him, to watch her eyes spring open and see blood come leaking out. Streams of blood were gushing from between her lips, making puddles on the quilt that spread in angry scarlet. She emitted an anguished shriek of pain and shook violently, and then, just as suddenly, she went still.

For a moment, he thought she was dead. She wasn't breathing, he could tell. The bleeding had stopped, though there were streaks of blood trailing away from her lips and nose and eyes and ears. He quickly cleaned her up and pried open her left hand, knowing from experience that this was the end of it all. He waited until her chest began to slowly rise and fall, and as he took the medal of Merlin from her hand, he whispered,

"Good girl, Bellatrix. I love you. I'll be back very soon."

He bent to press his lips to her sweaty forehead, which was clammy and cold, and he stood beside the bed, just staring at her for a long moment. He turned the medal over in his hand and Disapparated, coming to in the dark, forested area just outside Little Hangleton. He gazed up at the Gaunt shack, at the place where his mother had endured all manner of hell, at the place where his own ring Horcrux lay in waiting beneath the floorboards. He glanced down at the medal into which his wife had put a piece of her soul, and he strode confidently toward the shack.

**Author's Note: Whewwwwwwwwww. That chapter was a doozy, no? This is the first time I've explored a complex, super-Dark method of making a Horcrux. I do think the magic must have been incredibly awful, or else Slughorn wouldn't have recoiled at the simple question of Horcruxes' existence. In the next chapter, we'll get a little reprieve… maybe even some peculiarly Bellamort hurt/comfort fluff. :) Thanks as always for reading, and PLEASE do take a quick moment to review. Especially in these action chapters, your feedback is enormously appreciated.**


	25. Chapter 25

A dull, throbbing pain in her limbs. The sensation of needles poking into every pore on her skin. Stabbing agony behind her eyes. The sensation that a great weight sat upon her chest. Churning nausea.

"Bellatrix?"

He could sense her waking up, she thought. Her Occlumency shields would be nonexistent just now; he'd be able to tell that her mind was coming out of this hell. Bellatrix turned her face to where she could tell he was, and she blinked her eyes open.

Immediately, he scowled deeply, but then Voldemort corrected his features and murmured,

"I know you're in pain. Unfortunately, neither a Painkilling Charm nor Anodyne Potion will help that. Only time will make it fade."

"All right." Bellatrix's voice was so hoarse she could barely hear it. Her throat burned like fire when she tried to swallow. Almost immediately, Voldemort brought a mug of something to her lips. There was a steel straw in it, and Bellatrix closed her chapped lips around it, drinking without hesitation.

Lemon water with a hint of honey and ginger. It was lukewarm in the mug, which for some reason felt like just the right temperature. Bellatrix sipped more eagerly, gulping down the citrus and spice and sweet.

Perhaps, she thought distantly, this was why he so despised lemon flavour. After five Horcruxes, he must have grown quite weary of the taste.

"It helps with the nausea and thirst," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. He flicked his eyes to the bedside table, where a large pewter pitcher sat, and he informed her, "You should drink as much as you can. Your body is extremely dehydrated just now."

Bellatrix just shut her eyes, for the pain there was bad enough that she couldn't think straight. Suddenly she felt an ice-cold sensation there, on the place above her eyes, and she gasped a little.

"It's just a wet rag that I've charmed to stay chilled," Voldemort said quietly. "It'll help that stabbing pain go away very quickly. The first three times, I waited that particular pain out, but it'll be gone in ten minutes with the rag. Here. Drink more."

"Thank you, Master," Bellatrix rasped. She felt the cold metal straw at her lips again, and she sipped the soothing concoction for awhile before Voldemort took it away again. She felt his hands gliding over her skin, rubbing firm circles with his thumbs in a perfect sort of massage. He worked his way along her shoulders and down her arms, and then he whispered,

"It'll all fade."

"Did it work?" Bellatrix asked, blinded by the perfectly icy cloth he'd put on her eyes. She heard him sigh.

"It worked perfectly," he said at last. "It's beside one of mine, under the floorboards of a shack just outside the town of Little Hangleton."

"A shack," Bellatrix repeated. She knew there must be some significance to the hiding place. Lord Voldemort did nothing arbitrarily. There was a long pause, and finally he said,

"The shack is… is where my mother was raised. Both sides of my family came from Little Hangleton. I've got a Horcrux - an old family ring that I took great lengths to acquire after its loss - beneath the floorboards of the deserted shack. It's very strongly protected, of course. I have written out all the spells you'd need to take down the wards. If ever you need it, though, your Horcrux will draw you to it. Know that it is safe."

"Beside yours," Bellatrix whispered, and after another long pause, Voldemort said,

"I have a theory that they strengthen one another by being side-by-side."

Bellatrix curled her lips up weakly. "Oh. I quite like that theory, My Lord."

"Bella." She felt his lips on her cheek then, and some of the worst of the pain evaporated as he kissed her. She sucked in breath hard and begged him,

"Kiss me again."

She could feel him hesitate, but then his lips pressed against hers, far more gently than they'd ever done, and Bellatrix felt more of the pain subside.

"Oh, again, please," she beseeched him. He kissed her once more, still careful and soft, and Bellatrix reached up to snare her arms around his shoulders. His fingers pulled the icy rag from her eyes, which no longer hurt, and she read deep surprise in his dark eyes as he hovered over her.

"Bella," he said again, looking her up and down. "It… what, it helps the pain when I kiss you?"

"Yes." Bellatrix nodded and tightened her arms around him. He kissed her a little harder, or at least more urgently, cupping her jaw in his hand and licking a little at her bottom lip.

"I love you," he mumbled, his breath hot against her wet mouth. Bellatrix groaned a little; the pain was almost entirely gone now. He kissed her once more, this time so deeply that Bellatrix was lost in it. He traced a pattern of some kind on the roof of her mouth with his tongue. He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth. He sighed against her, his fingers threading into her curls, and as he pulled away, he said again, "I love you, Bellatrix."

"Oh. Oh, My Lord." Bellatrix was a little breathless then, her eyes struggling to stay open as she nodded. "Oh, I love you, too. Very much. I'm so tired. So very tired."

"Yes; you'll sleep on and off for a few days. It's all right." Voldemort still sounded a little disbelieving, and he asked, "How's your pain right now?"

"Gone," she said honestly. She was fatigued, but the stabbing and throbbing and burning had gone away entirely. She opened her eyes to see Voldemort smirking a little in his chair beside the bed.

"Well, I certainly wish I'd had the luxury of someone kissing me and telling me they loved me when I made my Horcruxes."

Bellatrix reached for his hand and said very sincerely, "I am sorry I was not there… that you were alone."

He blinked. "I am rather accustomed to being alone, Bella. Not anymore, of course. Here. Drink some more, will you?"

* * *

Two days later, Bellatrix was strong enough to sit upright in bed with a tray on her lap. She breathed in deeply, and Voldemort said rather proudly,

"I baked that bread myself, I will have you know. With magic, mind, but… still. And there's a whole great pot of the carrot and ginger soup if you want more."

Bellatrix smiled broadly and pointed to the wooden bowl on the tray. "You've put parsley on the serving of soup and everything."

"Yes, well. Do it all the way or not at all," Voldemort said. He watched her spoon soup into her mouth with a shaking hand, then decide that it was better to soak her dense brown bread in the soup and eat it that way. As she chewed, she smiled a little at him, and he could read the gratitude in her eyes.

A few times over the last few days, they'd flashed scarlet. When she'd blinked her eyes open for the first time, he'd been staring at crimson irises. But it hadn't happened at all today. She seemed a little thinner, a little more weary, but he thought that would improve, too. Overall, she didn't seem much worse for the wear. Voldemort had gone through a phase after creating a Horcrux during which his features had gone blurry and horrid, and it had taken quite a lot of Healing magic to put himself to rights. Something had been off, he thought, when he'd made ring Horcrux. He'd damaged himself badly that time, but he'd repaired most of the problems with his appearance. Bellatrix, it seemed, had handled the creation of her Horcrux perfectly. If anything, she looked more beautiful than ever.

She sipped at her cup of tea and set it back down with a little clatter, and as she let out a shaking breath, she admitted,

"I can't eat any more right now. I'm sorry, Master."

"No. It's… you're doing so well. Really." He Banished her tray to the kitchen and set the dishes to washing themselves in the sink. Then he glanced out the window and noted, "The waves are enormous today. Would you like to go have a look? Get some fresh air?"

Bellatrix hesitated, pulling a little at the quilt as she admitted,

"I do not wish to disappoint you, My Lord, but… I'm not certain that I have the strength to walk all the way to the beach just yet."

He cocked up a brow. "Who said anything about you walking?"

He pushed the blankets aside and threaded one arm beneath her knees and sent the other to carefully cradle her back. He cast a wandless, nonverbal charm to partially levitate her, such that she felt like she weighed hardly anything, and he smirked down at her. She reached up to hold him, clasping her fingers together behind his neck, and she grinned.

Voldemort gathered his abilities to wandlessly yank the front door of the cottage open and to pull it shut once they'd gone outside. The chill was bracing; the wind was intense. It was magnificent. His boots crunched on the little stones in front of the cottage as Bellatrix's hair was blown everywhere. He'd kept her clean with Scouring charms and had helped her limp to the bathroom when she'd finally been able to relieve herself. He'd fed her and comforted her with kisses. He had grown quite used to taking care of her over the last few days. But this was different; she was finally feeling the outdoors again, and suddenly she seemed a little stronger.

As he approached the ocean, he watched her eyes - perfectly brown and not at all red right now - stare out over the grey, churning sea. She seemed mesmerised. Voldemort stood on the rocky beach, just out of reach of the waves, and he just held her. His black cloak whipped around and behind him in the wind, and his greying hair would be a shameful mess when they got back. But it was cloudy and cold and windy and perfect. The waves slammed with anger against the rocky shore, and for a very long time, both Bellatrix and Voldemort just watched the aggressive ebb and flow. Finally, barely audible over the wind, Bellatrix asked,

"May I stand, please?"

He hesitated but then set her down carefully. Her bare feet stumbled a little as she tried to get her bearings, and Voldemort laced a hand to the small of her back, propping her up against him. He shook his head and assured her,

"I won't let you fall."

She stared up at him then, her curls coming and going from her face in the wind. She just stared, not studying him, not communicating any secret message with her chocolate eyes. They were locked up, the two of them, and Voldemort suddenly felt that he wouldn't have been able to look away for all the world. He actually tried; he tried his best to cast his eyes back out to the sea. But all that happened was that his hand tightened at Bellatrix's back, and he promised her,

"I won't ever let you fall, Bella."

Her eyes welled just a little then, and she nodded. "I know, Master. I'm not sure I can walk back. Will you carry me?"

"Yes." He scooped her up again, cradling her carefully and eschewing any assistive spells this time. As he plodded up the stony soil toward his cottage, he knew she'd only require a few more days of respite before they could leave the Isle of Man. A tiny part of him didn't want to leave. Some fragment of his being wanted to stay here, here in this windy and deserted place, alone with her. But he had an empire to build, and she was his Dark Lady now.

They'd always be alone together. No one would ever understand either of them properly. She'd come the closest to understanding him, and he liked to think he understood her. But no one would know this terrible secret, the fact that they had both split their souls and concealed the fragments in Horcruxes. No one would ever know the way he adored her, in a way that he could have never cared for anyone else.

In a few days, they'd go back to Malfoy Manor. They'd go back to meetings, to assassinations, to Ministry infiltration and social events. But they'd done something that couldn't be undone. They'd crossed a line from which there was no return. And they would live forever, alone together.

THE END.

**Author's Note: Please don't be mad at me, buuuuuut… I have decided to end this story here. That's because it's Christmas season and I have very limited writing time, and I just *know* that I will be writing a fanfic for The Last Jedi as soon as it comes out. In between now and then, I have to do some editing on my next original novel that will be published soon. My plan right now (and if you know me, you know I rarely make these kinds of writing plans) is to 1) edit and publish my original work, then 2) write a fanfic for The Last Jedi, then 3) finish Wars and Warlords (which is a Bellamort fic that got abandoned in a situation like this, that I'm trying to avoid). Eventually, my hope is to write a full length sequel to this story in the same way that I made the Troublemaker storyverse.**

**I want to thank you sooooo very sincerely for reading this story, which has been an absolute joy to write. I have loved exploring this very different Bellamort dynamic, and I sincerely hope to expand upon it in the future.**


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